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By  Mrs.  E.  PRENTISS. 

Pemaquid  :  A  Story  of  Old  Times  in 

New  England.     12010,    .... 

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I'kontispieci 


PEMAQUID 


A  STORY   OF 


OLD    TIMES    IN    NEW    ENGLAND, 


Mrs.    E.    PRENTISS, 

AUTHOR  OF   "stepping   HEAVENWARD,"    "  THE   HOME    AT   GREYLOCK,"    "THE 
FLOWER   OF  THE   FAMILY,"    ETC.,   ETC. 


3       3  J         3 


NEW    YORK: 
ANSON    D.    F.    RANDOLPH    cS-    COMPANY, 

900   BROADWAY,    COR.    20th   ST. 


COPTKIGUT,   1ST7,   BT 

ANSON   D.   F.   RANDOLPH   &   COMPANY. 


ROBERT     RUTTER, 

BINDER. 

(4    BEEKMAN    STREET, 


PEMAQUID 


I.  :      .     :v  g;V;- 

"  The  wicked  flee  when  no  man  pursueth." 
MRS.   PICKETT'S  VERSION. 

AT  last  I  breathe  freely.  Away  down  in  this 
little  Eastern  village  of  Pemaquid  I  shall  find  a 
safe  retreat  from  my  enemies  and  persecutors.  It 
was  a  happy  thought  that  brought  me  here.  Time, 
it  is  true,  will  hang  heavy  on  my  hands  at  first,  but 
with  all  my  resources  and  devices  I  shall  soon  adjust 
myself  to  my  new  circumstances.  And  what  are 
these  circumstances?  I  spend  my  nights  in  a  room 
that  has  been  shut  up  from  the  profane  eye  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century.  By  dint  of  opening  every  win- 
dow, and  banishing  the  hideous  green  paper  curtains, 
the  musty  odor  of  this  grim  apartment  is  beginning 
to  become  endurable.  My  days  I  spend  in  a  room 
yet  more  religiously  closed,  more  grim,  more  musty, 
which  rejoices  in  the  name  of  parlor.  '  Cousin  Snell,* 
as    my  worthy   relative   terms   herself,   has  not   yet 


8  FEMAQUID. 

recovered  from  the  shock  of  my  innovations,  but 
looks  on  with  speechless  horror  and  amazement. 
She's  not  much  of  a  cousin,  to  be  sure,  but  one  must 
humor  her  in  some  things.  Poor  creature,  she  may- 
have  had  some  coloring  once,  but  time  has  faded  her 
pyt  ,till  ,shp,  lpqk,s  jike  the  ancient  fly-specked  sheet 
of  gihgevbr^Sgt :  onfi  sees  in  shop-windows  in  out-of- 
th^-y^-y  pl£i,ces.  ,  Take  a  broom,  and  put  upon  it  a 
(;Ubb>f  'caiic<)  dress;, and/there  you  have  her.  Like  all 
the  other  *  ladies  '  in  Pemaquid,  she  does  her  own 
work.  Her  husband,  'Lawyer  Snell '  —  Lawyer,  in- 
deed ! — is  off  to  his  work,  whatever  that  may  be,  at 
five  in  the  morning,  bearing  huge  sections  of  pie  for 
his  dinner.  How  these  Yankees  eat  pie.  As  for  my 
beloved  Cousin  Snell,  her  range  of  thought  is  un- 
speakably narrow.  To  get  breakfast,  to  get  dinner, 
to  get  supper ;  to  make  bread,  cake  and  pie,  pie,  pie ; 
to  go  to  '  meeting '  twice  on  Sunday  and  on  one 
evening  in  the  week  '■  conference ' — behold  her  life. 
A  wholesome  break  in  this  monotony  is  my  sudden 
advent,  with  my  wardrobe,  which  she  reveres,  my  let- 
ting the  sunlight  into  her  coffin-like  rooms,  and  all 
my  works  and  ways,  the  sight  of  which  fills  her  with 
silent  awe. 

I  shall  live  here  gratis  as  long  as  I  can.  Then, 
when  I  become  boarder  instead  of  guest,  I  shall 
have  to  resort  to  strategy.  It  will  not  be  very  hard 
to  circumvent  a  creature  as  weak  as  Deborah  Snell. 

For  one  thing,  I  must  pretend  to  great  sanctity. 


MRS.  PICKETTS  VFRSION.  9 

These  Puritans,  though  no  better  than  any  other 
people,  make  great  parade  of  their  piety,  and  wear  it 
round  in  wondrous  pomp  and  vanity.  I  flatter  my- 
self that  I  can  play  the  hypocrite  as  well  as  they. 
The  trouble  will  be  with  Juliet ;  that  amiable  child 
may  be  in  my  way. 

There  is  a  fine-looking  man  at  meeting  every  Sun- 
day. As  straight  as  a  poplar,  with  an  eye  as  clear  as 
a  lake,  and  a  forehead  as  white  as  snow,  set  off 
against  a  cheek  reddened  and  browned  by  the  sun  ; 
will  do  if  I  can  find  no  higher  game.  Yes,  Squire 
Woodford,  you  have  the  honor  of  being  my  prospect- 
ive almoner,  if  you  did  but  know  it.  Widowers 
ahvays  marry  again,  and  I  shall  take  him  by  storm — 
if  I  choose.  There  are  two  children :  one  a  gawky 
boy,  the  other  a  little  mouse  of  a  girl,  with  exquisite 
blue  eyes,  a  mass  of  golden  ringlets,  and  a  complex- 
ion that  even  I  envy.  It  would  be  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  to  worry  her  out  of  the  house ;  but  I  do 
not  know  about  the  boy. 

Lawyer  Snell  is  in  the  habit  of  making  a  long 

prayer  through  his  nose,  every  evening,   an   act  he 

designates  as  '  family  worship.'     Fortunately  I  have 

still  a  few  novels,  as  yet  unread,  with  which  I  can 

amuse  myself  while  devoutly  kneeling  at  my  wooden 

chair.     Juliet  is  far  more  ill-mannered,  for  she  sits  in 

hers,  reading  openly.     My  dear  cousins  are  too  rapt 

in  devotion  to  observe  our  little  peculiarities.     Going 

to  meeting  is  more  of  a  bore  than  this  pious  custom, 
1* 


10  FEMAQUID. 

as  I  can't  take  books  there,  and  I  must  sit  and  listen 
to  the  Rev.  Adoniram  Strong — strong  only  in  name. 
He  rolls  the  thunders  and  flashes  the  lightnings  of 
the  law  upon  us  in  a  most  vainglorious  way.  He 
and  his  wife  have  been  here  to  call  on  me.  Two 
seedier  mortals  it  would  be  hard  to  find.  And  as  to 
their  sanctimony  ! — well,  good  taste  before  all  things, 
I  say.  She  is  a  little  pat  of  butter,  round  and  unctu- 
ous, always  giggling,  and  then  catching  herself  up,  as 
if  laughter  were  a  sin.  He  is  a  tall,  lean,  hungry- 
eyed  mortal,  who  fasts  and  prays  till  one  can  count 
his  ribs.  Then  there  are  Deacon  Johnson  and  his 
wife  ;  and  they  must  needs  call  too.  Goodness  !  can 
I  be  I  ?  With  all  my  accomplishments,  all  my  good 
looks,  pinned  down  for  life  to  such  associates  as 
these  ?  What  have  I  done  that  I  should  be  banish- 
ed from  regions  where  I  could  support  myself  in  lux- 
ury, and  forced  to  hide  my  head  in  this  obscure  re- 
treat ?  Yes,  what  have  I  done  ?  Who  can  prove 
anything  against  me?  My  husband  might  have  had 
his  suspicions  —  of  course  his  mercenary  relatives 
took  care  that  he  should  —  but  nobody  knows  my 
story,  just  as  it  is,  or  ever  will  know  it.  Ah  !  there's 
that  babbling  Polly  Hanson,  has  put  two  and  two  to- 
gether, and  might  get  me  into  trouble  ;  but  there  are 
a  thousand  miles  between  us  now,  and  if  there  were 
not  I  would  defy  her  to  her  face.  The  truth  is,  I  am 
the  victim  of  circumstances.  Why  did  my  parents 
bring  me   up  to  value   money  beyond  everything  in 


KEZIA  MILLETS  VERSION.  11 

heaven  above  and  the  earth  beneath,  and  persuade 
me,  a  young,  giddy,  inexperienced  girl,  to  marry  that 
suspicious,  miserly  old  fox?  What  could  come  of 
such  a  marriage  but  dissension  and  misery?  And 
now  I  am  driven  forth,  homeless  and  almost  penni- 
less, who  expected  to  be  soon  rid  of  my  burden  and 
left  Avith  a  fortune  fit  for  a  princess.  Until  he  dies  I 
can  not  marry  again,  and  the  tough  old  creature 
may  live  these  ten  years ;  who  knows  ?  And  they 
track  me  from  city  to  city,  overthrow  all  my  sphemes 
for  supporting  myself,  and  almost  drive  me  to  dis- 
traction. Well,  I  must  live,  and  must  get  round 
somebody  somehow.  My  poor  father  and  mother,  I 
suppose  I  broke  their  hearts  for  them  ;  but  it  was 
their  own  fault.     They  brought  me  up  to  all  I  did. 

KEZIA   millet's   VERSION. 

"  Have  I  come  home  for  good  ?  No,  I  haven't 
come  home  for  good. 

"  Am  I  sick  ?  Well,  did  you  ever  know  me  to  be 
sick  ?  Now,  mother,  you  jest  stop  asking  questions, 
and  let  me  ask  you  a  few.  Aint  I  been  a  white 
slave  to  the  Squire  ever  since  Mis'  Woodford  died  ? 
Aint  I  a  master-hand  at  knocking  off  work  ?  Did  you 
ever  see  any  apple-dowdy  equal  to  mine  ?  Aint  my 
pot-pies  fit  for  King  George,  if  he  is  a  king  ?  Why, 
I've  made  pies  enough  to  carpet  the  whole  town  if  I 
had  'em  all  together  at  once ;  and  as  for  bread  and 


12  P  EM  A  QUID. 

biscuits,  why,  they've  ate  a  thousand  apiece  if  they've 
ate  one.  And  aint  I  been  as  good  as  a  mother  to 
them  children?  Haven't  I  walked  the  house  with 
'em  nights  when  they  vv^as  babies?  Haven't  I  watch- 
ed for  every  tooth  they  cut  ?  Haven't  I  carried  'em 
through  the  measles  and  the  hooping-cough,  and  had 
'em  inoculated  for  the  small-pox?  You're  gittin' 
bewildered,  and  don't  see  what  I'm  running  on  about, 
and  you  wish  I'd  sit  down  like  a  Christian,  instead 
of  rampaging  round  the  room  like  a  beef-critter. 
Well,  I've  heaved  over  a  good  deal  of  ballast,  and 
feel  easier,  and  I  believe  I  will  sit  down  and  begin  at 
the  beginnin'. 

"  You  see,  one  evening,  just  as  Lawyer  Snell  and 
Mis'  Snell  was  a-sittin'  down  to  tea,  the  stage  drove 
up  to  the  door,  and  out  steps  a  fine  lady  and  a  little 
girl.  Mis'  Snell,  she  had  an  old  yaller  bandanna 
handkerchief  round  her  neck,  and  hadn't  no  front- 
piece  on,  nor  no  cap,  and  there  was  her  old  gray  hair 
a-showing;  and  Lawyer  Snell,  he  hadn't  no  coat  on, 
for  it  was  a  hot  day,  and  he'd  been  a-diggin'  round 
some  trees,  and  his  shirt-sleeves  was  about  the  color 
o'  mud,  and  here  was  this  great  lady  a-knocking  at 
the  door. 

" '  You  open  it,'  says  Mis'  Snell,  *  while  I  put  on 
my  front-piece  and  cap.' 

"  '  Open  it  yourself,  while  I  put  on  my  coat  and 
wash  my  hands,'  ses  he.  And  then,  before  you  could 
say  Jack  Robinson,  in  came  the  lady,  walks  up  to 


KEZIA  MILLETS  VERSION.  13 

Mis'  Sncll  and  hugs  and  kisses  her,  and  calls  her  dear 
cousin  !  Mis'  Snell,  she  couldn't  think  of  nothing  but 
her  front-piece  and  two  cracked  cups  and  saucers  on 
the  table ;  and  O,  if  she  only  had  her  best  Sunday- 
go-to-meetin'  clothes  on,  and  her  best  tea-set  out ; 
and  why  hadn't  she  mistrusted  something,  and  stirred 
up  a  loaf  of  cake,  she  wanted  to  know  ? 

''  But,  la !  my  lady  said  what  a  nice,  cosy  house  it 
was,  and  what  delicious  bread  and  butter,  and  what 
a  picture  Pemaquid  was,  to  be  sure  !  And  when  Mis' 
Snell  whipped  out  of  the  room  and  popped  on  her 
front-piece  and  best  cap,  my  l^dy  cries  out : 

"  '  You  don't  mean  to  cover  that  exq?izsite  gray 
hair  of  yours  with  a  frizette  as  black  as  horse-hair? 
Why,  you  were  quite  a  picture  in  your  exquisite  gray 
hair ! '  Mis'  Snell,  she  was  well-nigh  tickled  to  death  ; 
and  then  they  got  to  talking,  and  my  lady,  she  said 
her  name  was  Pickett,  and  that  she  had  married 
young  and  been  left  a  widow,  and  in  her  sorrow  and 
sadness  had  bethought  herself  of  her  dear  cousin  at 
Pemaquid,  and  had  come  a  thousand  miles  to  see  her. 

"  '  But  I  aint  got  no  cousins,'  says  Mis'  Snell ;  *  the 
nearest  to  it  was  Mis'  Grigs,  and  she  was  only  a 
second  cousin.' 

"  '  Yes,  and  that  was  my  mother,'  says  Mis'  Pickett, 
'  and  how  she  used  to  talk  about  you  !  And  if  ever 
you  get  into  any  kind  of  trouble,  my  child,  she  would 
say,  go  to  Pemaquid,  where  Deborah  Snell  lives,  who's 
the  best  and  kindest  and  dearest  wom.an  in  the  world.' 


14  P EM  A  QUID. 

"  Mis'  Snell  disremembered  ever  seein'  Mis'  Grigs, 
and  was  dreadfully  ashamed  of  herself  when  she  found 
her  cousin  thought  so  much  of  her.  And  she  felt 
proud  that  such  a  beautiful-dressed  lady  should  cross 
her  humble  threshold  (them's  her  very  words),  and 
she  went  and  made  up  the  bed  in  the  parlor  chamber, 
and  got  out  her  best  towels,  and  drawed  a  pitcher  of 
water  out  of  the  cistern,  and  filled  the  best  pitcher, 
and  Mis'  Pickett  said  she  was  tired  and  would  retire 
early.  Retire,  indeed  !  The  next  mornin'  Mis'  Snell 
got  up  at  four  o'clock,  and  if  there  wasn't  all  the  green 
paper  curtains  a-settin'  Out  in  the  entry !  And  about 
eight  o'clock  Mis'  Pickett  comes  down  a-smiling,  and 
said  she  wasn't  used  to  sleepin'  on  feathers,  and  had  had 
a  restless  night ;  but  she  had  opened  all  the  windows 
and  let  in  all  the  air  she  could,  and  expected  to  sleep 
beautifully  in  future.  Mis'  Snell  was  nigh  upon 
faintin'  away  when  she  heard  that  the  sun  was  a-shin- 
ing  onto  her  parlor-chamber  carpet,  and  the  flies 
lightin'  on  her  best  dimity  quilt,  and  her  mother's 
old  easy-chair.  And  then  Mis'  Pickett  says,  all  so 
sweet,  'Will  you  show  me  the  parlor?'  and  goes  in 
and  slams  open  the  blinds  and  makes  it  as  light  as 
day,  and  sets  down  there  and  goes  to  sewing.  And 
Juliet,  that's  the  little  girl,  walked  about  on  the  sofy, 
and  reached  over  and  handled  all  Mis'  Snell's  elegant 
books  as  if  they  were  her'n.  Mis'  Snell  didn't  dare 
to  say  a  word,  but  she  felt  almost  beat  out.  And  she 
come  over  to  our  house  to  see  if  we'd  got  any  bees- 


KEZIA  MILLETS  VERSION.  15 

wax;  and  says  she,  '  Kezia  Millet,  we've  got  the 
elegantest  lady  at  our  house  you  ever  see ;  she  sets  in 
the  parlor,  if  you'll  believe  me,  and  my  best  carpet  is 
a-fadin'  dreadful.  But  she's  only  come  to  make  a 
little  visit,  and  I  suppose  city  folks  is  different  to  peo- 
ple in  Pemaquid.'  Well,  I  didn't  mistrust  nothin', 
and  I  lent  her  half  a  loaf  of  bread,  because  she  had 
bad  luck  with  her'n,  what  with  her  flustration  about 
havin'  them  winders  all  hove  open.  But  every  day 
she  kept  expectin'  Mis'  Pickett  v/ould  go  away ;  and 
when  she  didn't,  it  Vv^as  a  comfort  to  the  poor  soul  to 
come  and  tell  me  about  it.  She  thinks  everything  of 
me.  Mis'  Snell  does.  And  by  degrees  she  let  out 
that  she  was  beginnin'  to  be  afraid  Mis'  Pickett  wasn't 
livin'  consistent.  She  didn't  keep  fast-day  at  all,  but 
ate  everything  just  the  same  as  other  days,  and 
wouldn't  touch  the  beautiful  bean-soup  that  the  rest 
of  'em  lived  on.  And  they  never  see  her  readin'  her 
Bible,  neither.  Mis'  Snell  thought  she  ought  to  be 
faithful  to  her,  but  was  afraid  to,  and  it  was  a  burden 
on  her  conscience.  She  asked  me  what  she  ought  to 
do  ;  and  ses  I,  ask  her  if  she  enjoys  religion.  '  I  will,* 
ses  she.  So  the  next  Sunday  she  just  up  and  asked 
her.  'Enjoy  religion?'  ses  Mis'  Pickett,  '  of  course  I 
do.  I  enjoy  it  of  all  things.'  'I  suppose ^ity  folks 
enjoy  it  in  a  different  way  from  country  folks,'  ses  Mis' 
Snell.  '■  Don't  city  folks  do  no  fasting?  '  *  Why,  no  ; 
they  do  feastin','  says  Mis'  Pickett.  *  Well,  I  never ! ' 
ses  Mis*  Snell.     'The  people  in  Pemaquid  would  no 


16  PEMAQUID. 

more  eat  pie  or  cake  or  anything  solid  on  Church 
fast-day  than  they'd  fly.  Bean-soup  is  all  we  allow 
ourselves;  and  old  Mis'  Weed,  and  Deacon  Stone, 
and  Mis'  Harris,  and  lots  of  others,  never  eat  a  morsel 
of  anything  all  day  long.'  '  How  often  do  you  have 
'em  ?  *  ses  she.  '  The  Church  fast  is  once  in  three 
monlhs,  and  the  State  fast  once  a  year/  says  Mis' 
Snell. 

''  '  How  queer! '  ses  Mis'  Pickett. 

"  '  It's  not  at  all  queer,'  ses  Mis'  Snell.  '  It's  as 
solemn  as  the  grave.  Why,  we  go  away  into  our  bed- 
rooms, and  git  down  on  our  knees,  and  mourn  over 
our  sins  till  you  might  wring  water  out  of  our  hand- 
kerchiefs.' 

"  '  I  had  no  idea  there  were  any  such  dreadful  sin- 
ners in  this  innocent-looking  little  village,'  ses  Mis' 
Pickett. 

"  *  As  to  that,'  ses  Mis'  Snell,  gittin'  fiery — as  who 
wouldn't — '  we're  angels,  wings  and  all,  compared 
with  city  folks,  from  all  I've  heerd.'  Mis'  Pickett 
looked  as  if  she  wanted  to  say  something,  but  held  in. 
She's  the  greatest  hand  at  holdin'  in  I  ever  see  !  It 
was  the  fust  of  June  she  came  to  Pemaquid,  and  when 
it  got  well  into  July,  Mis'  Snell  began  to  feel  as  if  it 
was  about  time  her  dear  cousin  went  away.  The  girl 
hadn't  her  mother's  faculty  at  holdin'  her  tongue,  and 
she  told  Lawyer  Snell  to  his  face  that  he  was  an  old 
hypocrite,  and  she  told  Mis'  Snell  that  she  wasn't 
nothin'  but  a  cook,  and  didn't  know  B  from  a  broom- 


KEZIA  MILLETS  VERSION.  17 

stick.  So  Mis'  Pickett,  she  comes  a-prowling  over  to 
our  house — '  And  how's  that  lovely  little  protegy  of 
your'n,  Mis'  Kezia  ? '  ses  she. 

"  '  My  name's  Keziy/  ses  I,  '  and  I  aint  got  no 
proged}^' 

*' '  O,  I  mean  no  offense  I '  ses  she  ;  '  but  my  heart 
went  out  to  that  angelic  child  the  first  time  I  saw 
her,'  ses  she. 

'^  '  Dew  yer  mean  our  Ruth  ?  '  ses  I.  '  She  aint  no 
angelic  child.  She's  just  little  Ruth  Woodford,  if  it's 
all  the  same  to  you,'  ses  I.  Yer  see  there's  no  com- 
ing round  me,  mother. 

''  '  I  thought  the  little  creature  might  be  lonely,'  ses 
she,  '  and  would  like  to  run  over  and  play  with  my 
little  daughter,'  ses  she. 

"  ^  I  guess  Ruth  Woodford  aint  lonely  w^ien  she's 
got  Keziy  Millet  all  to  herself,'  ses  I. 

"  '  The  Squire  must  be  lonely,  at  all  events,'  ses 
she.  '  Do  you  think  he'll  marry  again,  my  good 
woman  ? ' 

"  '  I  dare  say  he'd  have  you,  if  you  asked  him,' 
ses  I. 

"  '  Dear  me ;  you're  quite  a  character,'  ses  she. 
*  And  I  do  love  transparency ! '  So  then  she  slouched 
away  on  her  soft  toes — and  I  could  have  killed  her ! 

"  Is  that  a  Christian  spirit  ?  No,  of  course  it  aint 
a  Christian  spirit. 

"Don't  I  wish  I  wasn't  so  outspoken?  No;  I'm 
glad  I'm  outspoken.     I  wouldn't  be  a  mealy-mouthed, 


18  FEAIAQUID. 

sugar-and-honey  kind  of  a  creature,  like  that  Mis' 
Pickett,  if  I  was  to  suffer.  But  you  don't  see  why 
I'm  so  mad,  nor  what  I've  come  home  for?  No ;  you 
never  do  see  nothing.  That's  what  makes  you  so 
even.  It's  easy  enough  to  be  even  when  you  don't 
see  n'othing ;  and  I  might  ha'  known  'twant  no  use  to 
expect  you'd  be  the  least  grain  of  comfort  to  me  in 
my  time  of  trouble.  You're  sorry  you  aint  bright 
like  I  be?     So  be  I!" 


11. 

"  O  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave, 
When  first  we  practice  to  deceive." 

RUTH   WOODFORD'S   VERSION. 

1AM  only  a  little  girl,  not  quite  thirteen  years 
old.  I  am  small  of  my  age,  and  backward.  But 
I  always  took  to  writing.  And  when  you  feel  bad 
about  anything  you  can  not  talk  to  anybody  about,  I 
think  it  is  a  good  plan  to  go  to  the  store,  and  buy  a 
little  blank  book — not  a  dear  one,  but  a  cheap  one — ' 
and  put  down  in  it  some  of  your  troubles.  Perhaps 
children  with  mothers  may  not  need  such  books. 
And  to  be  sure,  I  have  Kezia,  and  I  used  to  tell  her 
everything.     But  now  I  can  not. 

I  shall  be  ashamed  to  let  any  one  see  this  book, 
it  will  be  so  full  of  bad  grammar  and  bad  spelling. 
If  anybody  ever  does  see  it  with  good  grammar  and 
good  spelling,  it  will  be  because  one  of  my  grand- 
children went  and  copied  it  out.  I  wouldn't  have 
any  one  suppose  I  arn  anything  but  a  very  ignorant, 
backvv^ard  little  girl. 

My  mother  died  when  I  was  three  years  old.     I 

did  not  miss  her  much,  because  she  never  had  been 

well  enough  to  take  care  of  me.     I  slept  in  a  crib  by 

the  side  of  Kezia's  bed,  and  she  washed  and  dressed 

(19) 


20  PEMAQUID. 

and  fed  me  till  I  was  old  enough  to  take  care  of  my^ 
self.  She  did  all  the  work  in  the  house  besides. 
People  said  she  was  cross-grained,  and  that  nobody 
but  my  father  could  get  along  with  her.  But  he  al- 
ways had  a  soft  answer  when  she  was  contrary,  and 
she  used  to  tell  me  almost  every  day  that  he  had  the 
temper  of  an  angel. 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  her  I  should  have  been  very 
lonely,  and  indeed  as  it  was  I  often  used  to  wish  I 
had  a  little  sister.  That  was  very  wrong.  I  had  no 
business  to  want  things  God  did  not  think  it  best  to 
give  me. 

But  my  father  was  out,  all  day,  looking  after  the 
farm.  He  is  a  justice  of  the  Peace,  besides.  I  do 
not  know  what  that  means,  and  perhaps  I  ought  to 
have  spelt  it  with  a  capital  J. 

My  brother  Samuel  used  to  follow  him  round 
wherever  he  went.  And  I  followed  after  Kezia.  I 
went  out  with  her  to  milk  the  cows,  and  I  watched 
her  when  she  skimmed  the  milk,  and  stood  by  her 
while  she  churned.  And  betweenwhiles  she  used  to 
tell  me  stories  out  of  the  Bible.  When  I  got  old 
enough  to  read  it  myself,  I  missed  a  good  many  things 
out  of  it  that  she  said  were  there.  The  stories  did 
not  seem  half  as  long  nor  half  so  wonderful  as  they 
did  when  I  heard  them  as  I  followed  her  about,  hear- 
ing a  little  here  and  a  little  there. 

One  day — it  was  late  in  August,  and  the  doors 
and  windows  v/ere  open — I  was  sitting  on  the  steps 


RUTH  WOODFORD'S  VERSION.  21 

of  the  porch,  Hstening  to  one  of  Kezia's  stories  while 
she  washed  the  breakfast  dishes. 

'■  You  see,  the  Lerd  didn't  think  it  was  healthy 
for  Elijah  to  eat  dinner,'  said  she,  '  so  He  only  sent 
the  ravens  to  feed  him  twice  a  day.' 

'What  did  He  send  him?'  says  I.  I  knew  as 
well  as  she  did,  but  I  liked  to  hear  it,  just  the  same. 

'  Well,  He  sent  him  a  nice  piece  of  beefsteak  for 
his  breakfast,'  said  she,  'and  a  great,  large  piece  of 
bread  to  eat  with  it.' 

'  How  large  was  the  bread  ? ' 

'  Well,  about  as  large  as  that  yellow  bowl,  I 
guess.' 

'  O  Kezia !  you  said  the  other  day  it  was  only  a 
slice ! ' 

'  Did  I  ?  Well,  may  be  I  hadn't  read  my  Bible 
so  careful  as  I  ought  to.  What  with  one  thing  and 
another  I  don't  read  it  much  nowadays,  that's  a  fact. 
But  v/hat's  Lawyer  Snell  a-coming  here  for,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?  ' 

'  Good-morning,  Kezia,  is  that  you  ? '  says  Law- 
yer Snell,  driving  up  close  to  the  door. 

'Yes,  it's  me;  who  else  should  it  be,  for  pity's 
sake  ? ' 

'  And  how  is  my  young  friend,  Ruth,  this  morn- 
ing?' he  went  on.  '  My  wife's  cousin  is  at  my  house, 
as  you  know,  and  nothing  will  do  but  she  must  have 
the  poor,  motherless  child  to  spend  the  day  with  her. 
She's  so  fond  of  children,  my  Vv'ife's  cousin  is.' 


22  PEMAQUID. 

'  Ruth  is  motherless,  as  you  say,  but  I  don't  see 
that  that's  your  business,  or  anybody's  business  but 
hers.  I  guess  I  can  see  through  a  millstone  when  it's 
all  holes! 

There  were  two  little  pink  spots  on  Kezia's  cheeks 
by  this  time,  and  she  dashed  about  the  porch  and  the 
kitchen  till  she  was  everywhere  at  once. 

Lawyer  Snell  only  smiled. 

^  I'll  come  for  her  in  half  an  hour,'  says  he.  '  You 
fix  her  up  in  her  go-to-meeting  clothes  against  I 
come  for  her.' 

'  I  aint  in  the  habit  of  having  two  masters,'  said 
Kezia.  '  When  the  Squire  tells  me  to  send  her  over 
to  your  house,  it'll  be  time  enough  to  fix  her  up. 
Anyhow,  her  every-day  clothes  is  as  good  as  your 
wife  wears  on  the  Sabbath.* 

'  I  see  the  Squire,  and  he  said  she  could  go,'  said 
Lawyer  Snell. 

So  Kezia  dressed  me  and  curled  my  hair  round 
her  fingers,  and  pulled  it  dreadfully,  groaning  all  the 
time,  and  saying,  '  O,  your  poor  pa  !    Your  poor  pa  !  * 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  pa  ? '  I  asked  her. 

'  A  woman's  the  matter  with  him,  or  will  be. 
Don't  mind  what  I  say.' 

'  If  you'd  just  as  lief  cut  off  my  hair,  I'd  just  as 
lief  have  you,'  I  said.     '  You  do  hurt  me  so  ! ' 

'■  La,  if  I  haven't  pulled  out  a  whole  handful. 
Well,  that's  better  than  busting,  and  I  should  ha* 
bust  in  forty  thousand  pieces  if  I  hadn't  taken  hold 


RUTH  WOODFORD'S  VERSION.  23 

of  something,  tooth  and  nail.  To  think  how  nice 
everything  was  going  on,  and  nobody  a-coming  be- 
tween you  and  me,  nor  me  and  your  pa ! '  She  took 
me  in  her  arms,  and  sat  down  on  the  door-step  and 
rocked  back  and  forth  as  people  do  who've  got  the 
colic. 

'  Ruth,'  says  she  at  last,  *  do  you  remember  your 
own  ma  ? ' 

I  said  I  didn't  know.  I  thought  she  was  all 
dressed  in  white,  and  there  was  two  wings  growing 
out  of  her  shoulders,  and  she  had  a  harp  in  her  hand 
and  was  flying  up  to  heaven. 

*  Oh  dear  !  oh  dear !  To  think  the  child  don't  re- 
member her  own  ma'  and  has  mixed  her  all  up  with 
an  angel,  now !  Well,  mind  what  I  say,  Ruth.  Your 
own  ma  was  just  as  different  from  that  woman  you're 
going  to  see  as  black's  different  from  white.  But 
she'll  come  round  you  !     She'll  come  round  you  ! ' 

I  couldn't  understand  what  Kezia  meant,  but  I 
liked  very  much  to  go  out  to  spend  the  day,  and  I 
liked  Mrs.  Pickett,  Mrs.  Smith's  cousin,  better  than 
anybody  I  knew.  For  she  was  very  kind  to  me  all 
day  long,  and  told  me  stories,  and  played  have  tea, 
and  said  I  was  such  a  dear  little  girl,  and  how  sorry 
my  own  mother  must  have  been  to  have  to  go  away 
and  leave  me.  And  then  she  had  a  little  girl,  too ; 
not  so  big  as  I  was,  but  such  a  nice  little  girl,  with 
black  eyes  and  brown  hair,  and  we  played  togethei 
like  two  twins,  for  Mrs.  Pickett  said  so. 


24  PEAfAQUID. 

The  next  day,  just  after  dinner,  Mrs.  Pickett 
came  walking  in  with  her  Httle  girl  by  the  hand. 

My  father  was  sitting  in  his  chair,  half  asleep,  for 
he  always  took  a  little  nap  after  dinner.  He 
started  up,  quite  confused  when  he  heard  Mrs. 
Pickett's  voice. 

'  I  am  afraid  I  have  disturbed  you.  Squire  Wood- 
ford,' she  said  softly.  '  I  never  dreamed  of  your 
being  at  home,  or  I  should  not  have  ventured  to  in- 
trude. But  your  little  daughter  must  be  my  apol- 
ogy. We  were  so  charmed  with  her  yesterday  !  A 
most  uncommon  child  ! ' 

'  She  is  like  her  mother,'  said  my  father,  much 
gratified.  '  Come  here,  Ruth.'  He  took  me  in  his 
arms  and  looked  down  at  me  in  his  loving  way. 

'  She  tells  me  she  does  not  go  to  school,'  said 
Mrs.  Pickett. 

'  The  Woodfords  do  not  take  to  their  books,'  he 
said.     '  And  there  is  no  good  school  here.' 

'■  Ah,  you  think  schools  a  disadvantage.  I  agree 
with  you,'  said  Mrs.  Pickett.  'The  freshness  and 
innocence  of  childhood  is  only  too  apt  to  disappear 
in  an  artificial  atmosphere.  I  thought  of  proposing — 
but  I  fear  it  is  an  intrusion — in  fact  I  am  in  the  habit 
of  instructing  my  little  Juliet  myself,  in  preference 
to  seeing  her  contaminated  among  other  children. 
And  as  I  expect  to  be  here  during  the  summer,  it 
occurred  to  me,  and  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Snell,  approves 
of  the  plan — it  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  an 


RUTH  WOODFORD'S  VERSION.  23 

advantage  to  Juliet,  to  have  your  little  Ruth  as  a 
companion  in  her  studies.' 

'  You  are  very  kind,'  said  my  father,  '  very  kind 
indeed.     If  the  distance  were  not  so  great — ' 

'  Oh,  the  distance  is  the  merest  trifle,'  cried  Mrs. 
Pickett.  '  I  walk  twice  as  far  every  day.  Of  course 
my  plan  was  to  give  the  lessons  here,  not  to  propose 
that  Ruth  should  come  to  me.' 

'  It  is  really  very  kind,'  said  my  father ;  '  I  hardly 
know  what  answer  to  make.  But  I  can  not  consent 
to  your  coming  here.  I  can  arrange  it  so  as  to  send 
Ruth  to  you.' 

'  I  do  not  feel  quite  free  to  act  in  Mr.  Snell's 
house  as  if  it  were  my  own,'  she  said,  '  so,  if  you 
please,  the  lessons  shall  be  here.' 

So  she  came  every  day,  and  was  so  sweet,  and 
seemed  to  love  me  so,  that  I  loved  her  dearly.  I 
talked  about  her  to  my  father  and  Kezia,  and  Kezia 
said  she'd  weaned  my  heart  from  her,  but  that  I 
should  come  to  my  senses  before  I  was  a  month 
older. 

Mrs.  Pickett  vvas  very  sad  a  great  deal  of 
the  time,  and  said  it  was  a  dreadful  thing  not  to 
have  any  home,  and  to  have  to  live  on  strangers. 
She  always  came  just  as  father  was  rousing  up  from 
his  nap,  and  she  often  brought  a  Bible  with  her,  and 
asked  him  his  opinion  of  some  of  the  texts.  Noth- 
ing pleases   father  like   studying  up  the  Bible,  and 

they  would  get  so  taken  up  with  commentaries  and 

2 


26  PEMAQUID. 

such  books,  that  us  girls  got  no  lesson  at  all,  and 
went  out  and  played  in  the  garden  or  down  in  the 
orchard.  I  never  had  been  so  happy  in  my  life,  and 
never  saw  father  brighten  up  so. 

MRS.    PICKETT   PROCEEDS. 

Cousin  Snell  will  have  a  sweet  season  of  mourn- 
ing over  her  sins  next  fast-day.  She  burst  into  my 
room  this  morning  in  a  perfect  fury,  armed  with  an 
empty  raisin-box. 

'■  There,'  she  cried,  '  do  you  see  that  box  ?  ' 

I  replied  that  I  was  not  blind. 

^  Well,  that  girl  of  your'n  has  ate  up  all  my  raisins 
that  I  was  saving  for  mince  pies,  and  flesh  and  blood 
can't  stand  it  no  longer.  Bolts  and  bars  aint  noth- 
ing to  her.  I  can't  put  my  cake  or  pies  or  sweet- 
meats anywhere,  but  what  she'll  find  'em.  And  if 
you  don't  stop  it,  I'll  put  pizen  into  everything.  As 
dear  as  everything  is  now,  to  eat  a  whole  box  of 
raisins ! ' 

'  I  had  no  idea  you  had  so  much  fire  in  you,'  I 
said,  much  amused. 

Whereupon  she  began  to  cry. 

'You  have  such  a  faculty  of  leading  me  into 
temptation,'  she  said,  covering  her  face  with  her 
apron.  '  Since  you  came  here,  I've  got  to  be  an 
awful  backslider,  and  don't  enjoy  religion  at  all.' 

'  I  should  not  think  you  were  in  a  very  holy  state 
when  you   talked,  just  now,  of  murdering  my  poor 


There,''  .she  said,  '•  do  you  see  that  box  ?  "  Page  26. 


MJiS    PICKETT  PROCEEDS.  27 

little  girl  for  nibbling  at  sweet  things.  All  children 
do  that.' 

'  It's  no  such  thing.  There  aint  a  thief  among 
all  the  children  in  Pemaquid.  Well,  I'll  have  a  new 
lock  put  on  every  door  in  the  house,  and  keep  the 
key  in  my  pocket.  And,  for  my  part,  I  wish  you'd 
hunt  up  a  home  for  yourself  somewhere  else.  You've 
lived  on  us  till  we're  sick  and  tired  of  you.  Me  and 
pa  is  both  agreed  that  the  sooner  you  go  the  better. 
Why,  you  two  has  as  good  as  took  the  bread  out  of 
our  children's  mouths.' 

Now  as  the  children  are  all  married  and  do  not 
live  at  home,  this  statement  did  not  overwhelm  me. 

'  I  expected  something  of  this  sort,'  I  replied, 
*  and  was  on  the  point  of  suggesting  that  we  should 
remain  here  as  boarders.' 

'  What'll  you  pay  ?  '  she  cried. 

*  I  am  not  prepared,  at  present,  to  state  the  pre- 
cise sum,'  I  returned. 

*  I  should  be  proper  glad  to  make  a  little  money,' 
she  said.  *  We're  gettin'  old,  and  ought  to  lay  by 
something  against  a  rainy  day.*  Her  old  eyes  fairly 
glistened. 

'  It  is  hard  upon  me,  being  a  widow,  to  have  to 
pay  my  own  relatives  for  such  food  as  I  have  had 
since  we  came  here,'  I  said,  at  last  beginning  to  lose 
my  temper.  After  all  the  flatteries  I  had  bestowed 
on  this  v\'oman,  it  was  hard  to  find  they  had  not 
touched  her  heart. 


28  PEMAQUID. 

'Such  vittles,  did  you  say?'  she  burst  forth. 
'Well,  it's  the  first  time  I've  heerd  a  word  against 
my  vittles.  You  and  your  young  one  have  been  liv- 
in'  on  the  bread  of  charity  all  summer,  and  now  you 
call  it  "  such  vittles !  " 

'  I  begin  to  realize  now  why  you  Pemaquiders 
have  so  many  fasts ;  that  is,  if  there  are  many  such 
termagants  among  you  as  I  see  before  me,'  I  remark- 
ed quietly,  having  quite  recovered  my  self-control. 
Whereupon  the  old  fossil  began  to  cry  again. 

'Yes,'  she  said,  in  a  subdued  tone,  'I've  been 
showing  an  unchristian  spirit  not  becoming  to  a 
member  of  the  Church.  But  you  arc  the  aggrava- 
tingest — old — the — aggravatingest  old — well,  I  can't 
think  of  no  name  but  she-devil.  You'd  make  the 
angel  Gabriel  swear,  Kezia  Millet  sa}'s,  with  your  ways 
like  a  cat,  and  your  mean  spirit,  a-coming  and  living 
on  us  like  a  blood-sucker,  Kezia  says,  and  a-prowlin' 
'round  the  Squire,  and  palavering  him  out  of  his  wits ! ' 

'  Now,  Cousin  Snell,'  I  sweetly  began,  '  it  is  vul- 
gar to  quarrel,  and  commonplace.  A7t}'hody  can  do 
it.  But  there  are  few  who  can  keep  the  peace  when 
irritated.  Now  let  us  become  friends  again,  and  per- 
-  haps  we  can  be  of  mutual  service  to  each  other.'  I 
held  out  my  soft,  white  hand,  into  which  she  reluc- 
tantly put  her  hard,  bony,  grimy  one.  '  Can  you  keep 
a  secret  ? '  I  asked,  solemnly. 

'  Yes,'  with  eager  curiosity. 

'  Will  you  promise  never  to  betray  me  if  I  confide 


MRS.  PICKETT  PROCEEDS.  29 

in  you,  remembering   how  you'll  feel   next  fast-day 
if  you  break  your  word  ?  ' 

'  I  hope  I  may  die  if  I  break  it/  was  her  reply. 

*  Very  well ;  I  expect  in  time  to  become  Mrs. 
Woodford.' 

*  So  Kezia  says.' 

^  I  am  not  particularly  fond  of  hearing  quotations 
from  Kezia,'  I  returned. 

'  If  there's  any  chance  of  your  marrjnng  the 
Squire,  you'd  be  a  fool  to  make  an  enemy  out  of 
Kezia,  for  there  aint  her  equal  anywhere.  She  can 
do  as  much  work  as  ten  common  women,  and  never 
seem  to  be  doing  nothing.  I  never  see  nobody  like 
her.  She  can  lift  a  barrel  of  flour  as  easy  as  you 
could  your  work-bag.  And  there  aint  nothing  she 
won't  do  for  them  she  cottons  to.  But,  my !  I 
wouldn't  have  her  for  an  enemy.' 

*  Nor  would  I.  I  shall  do  everything  to  conciliate 
her.  See,  now,  how  quickly  I  have  made  you  forget 
my  ebullition  of  anger  !  * 

'I  haint  forgot  it.  And  I  haint  forgot  that 
you've  turned  up  your  nose  at  my  vittles,  and  me  as 
good  a  housekeeper  as  any  one  in  Pemaquid.' 

'  I  said  nothing  about  your  housekeeping.  I  re- 
ferred to  the  scarcity  of  good,  nourishing  food,  and 
the  superabundance  of  pies  and  the  like.  It  was 
foolish  in  me  to  make  any  allusion  to  the  food,  for 
I'm  sure  it  is  very  nicely  cooked,  and  your  bread  and 
butter  are  perfect.' 


30  PEMAQUID. 

*  Well,  now  you  talk  reasonable/  she  said,  recov- 
ering her  good  humor.  '  And  do  you  really  think  you 
shall  manage  to  catch  the  Squire  ? ' 

*  Yes,  I  do,  if  you  don't  stand  in  my  light  by 
putting  it  into  Kezia's  head  that  such  is  my  plan. 
And  when  you  stand  in  my  light  you  stand  in  your 
own.  Don't  you  see  what  an  advantage  it  would  be  to 
you  to  have  a  cousin  with  plenty  of  money  right  across 
the  street  ?  Don't  you  see  that  if  I  am  to  pay  you  for 
my  board  I  must  marry  a  man  who  has  a  plenty  for 
me  to  do  it  with  ? ' 

*  Haven't  you  got  any  money  at  all  ?  * 

*  Yes,  I  have  a  trifle,  but  how  far  would  that  go 
toward  repaying  you  for  all  you  have  done  for  me  ?  * 

'  Do  you  mean  that  you  expect  to  pay  me  for  the 
whole  time  you've  been  here  ?  ?  ?  ' 

*  Certainly.* 

*  Why,  me  and  pa,  we  thought  you  was  jest  mak- 
ing a  convenience  of  us.' 

It  is  not  strange  the  simple  creatures  thought  so. 
But  I  am  changing  my  tactics,  now  that  there  is  war 
in  the  camp. 

*The  Squire  is  easy  to  come  round,'  she  said, 
musingly,  'but  Kezia  aint.  She's  dead  set  ag'inst 
you.* 

*  Of  course.  Don't  you  see  that  she  is  aspiring 
to  become  Mrs.  Woodford  herself?' 

'Why,  no,  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing. 
That  would  account  for  her  hating  you  so.' 


MRS.  PICKETT  PROCEEDS.  31 

*  She  has  no  other  reason  for  hating  me.  I  never 
did  her  any  harm,  and  never  intend  to.  And  don't 
you  think  it  would  be  disgraceful  for  a  man  of  Squire 
Woodford's  position  to  marry  his  servant  ? ' 

'  Do  you  call  Kezia  Millet  a  servant  ? '  she 
shrieked.  *  Why,  she's  as  respectable  in  her  way  as 
you  are  in  your'n.  But  she  aint  exactly  a  lady,  and 
you  air." 

Now  I  have  no  more  idea  that  Kezia  Millet  is 
setting  her  cap  for  the  Squire  than  she  is  setting  it 
for  me.  There's  nothing  bold  about  the  young 
woman. 


III. 

"  The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself, 
Can  make  a  heaven  of  hell,  a  hell  of  heaven." 

LAWYER  SNELL'S  VERSION. 

1SAW  through  this  Mrs.  Pickett  in  a  minute.  But 
wife  did  hot.  She  wound  wife  round  her  finger. 
And  now  we've  been  talking  it  over  together,  this 
scheme  of  hers  to  marry  the  Squire,  and  I  don't  see  as 
it's  any  business  of  ours  to  interfere.  He's  thirty-eight 
years  old,  and  ought  to  know  his  own  mind.  Still,  if  he 
comes  to  me,  and  asks  me,  point-blank,  if  I  think  she'd 
bring  up  his  children  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  make 
a  happy  home  for  him,  I  couldn't  in  conscience  say  yes. 
But  he  won't  come.  He'll  manage  the  whole  thing 
himself,  or  rather  this  woman  will  manage  it  for  him. 

I'm  sorry  for  the  Squire. 

And  if  I  could  afford  it  I  would  give  him  a  warn- 
ing. But  I  can't  afford  it.  Here  we  have  had  these 
two  upon  us  all  summer,  eating  and  drinking  and 
sleeping,  and  that  bad  child  devouring  everything 
wife  sets  most  store  by.  We  ought  to  be  paid  hand- 
somely for  their  board,  for  the  damage  done  to  car- 
pets, and  for  all  the  child  has  pilfered.  But  it  goes 
against  my  conscience  to  think  of  that  innocent  young 

female  child  Ruth  Woodford's  falling  into  the  hands 

(33) 


MRS   PICKETT  PROCEEDS.  33 

of  this  designing  woman,  and  living  under  the  same 
roof  with  Juhet  Pickett.  What  ought  I  to  do?  If 
it  wasn't  for  the  money — 

What  an  ungodly  thing ;  to  do  evil  to  get  a  home, 
and  perhaps  ruin  that  home  !  Mrs.  Pickett  has  a  very 
bad  heart.  And  her  selfishness  runs  into  cruelty.  It 
is  cruel  to  enter  a  peaceful  home  merely  for  her  own 
purposes.  I  despise  selfishness,  and  if  I  could  afford 
it  I  would  unmask  her  to  the  Squire.  But  we  must 
be  paid,  and  I  see  no  other  way  for  it.  We  are  getting 
eld,  and  need  a  great  many  little  comforts  young  peo- 
ple can  do  without.  There's  the  sill  of  the  barn-door 
needs  renewing,  and  we  need  a  chaise  to  take  us  to 
meeting.  Still,  if  the  Squire  asks  me,  I  think  I  ought 
to  tell  him.  And  suppose  he  doesn't,  wouldn't  he 
rather  pay  me  a  hundred  dollars  down  than  have  that 
tricksy  woman  for  his  wife  ?  Of  course  he  would  !  It 
aint  so  bad  an  idea,  Joshua  Snell !  You  might  make 
the  most  money  that  way,  and  pacify  your  conscience 
into  the  bargain.     I'll  go  and  see  what  wife  says. 

MRS.    PICKETT    PROCEEDS. 

The  Squire  has,  at  last,  as  Deborah  Snell  says, 
'  give  in.'  I  found  my  game  had  to  run  down.  The 
number  of  prayer-meetings  and  fasts  I  have  attended 
in  my  pursuit  has  been  appalling.  I  have  met  him 
*  accidentally '  at  least  fifty  times.  I  have  got  caught 
in  the  rain  at  his  house  about  as  many  more.  I  have 
borrowed  his  fusty,  musty  books  again  and  again.     I 


34  PEMAQUID. 

have  flattered  Ruth,  and  put  up  with  Samuel.  And 
I  can  have  a  home  of  my  own  at  any  moment  I  choose. 
The  Squire  has  fasted  and  prayed  over  his  side  of  the 
question — poor,  superstitious  prig  that  he  is — and 
thiiiks  I  am  sent  him  from  the  Lord  to  bring  up  his 
children. 

But  there  is  still  an  obstacle  in  the  way.  Old 
Grigs  may  be  living.  I  do  not  believe  he  is  ;  but  still, 
if  he  is,  I  should  get  myself  into  a  most  dangerous 
plight  by  marrying  another  man.  It  is  true  that  ces- 
sation of  persecution  has  awakened  the  hope  that  old 
Grigs  is  dead ;  but  I  do  not  know  it.  If  I  had  the 
means  I  would  go  and  find  out  the  truth,  for  I  can 
not  risk  writing.  Why  didn't  I  die  before  I  was  born 
into  this  world  of  care  and  trouble  ?  I  am  distracted 
with  the  part  I  have  to  play ;  but  with  a  respectable 
home  of  my  own  I  could  be  happy.  Old  Grigs  is 
seventy  years  old  to-day,  if  he  is  alive.  But  I  do  not 
believe  he  is.  I  am  not  wicked  enough  to  marry 
another  man  when  I  have  a  husband  living;  that 
would  be  a  greater  and  more  desperate  crime  than  I 
have  yet  been  guilty  of.  But  I  am  weary  of  the 
struggle  to  keep  up ;  I  long,  I  long  for  rest.  If  I  had 
I  any  one  to  consult !  But  I  have  no  one.  I  haven't 
a  friend  in  the  world  except  the  Squire. 

LAWYER   SNELL  AGAIN. 

That  female,  driven  to  desperation,  has  made  a 
confidant  of  me.     She  is  a  cheat,  as  I  have  said  all 


REV.  MRS.  STRONG  REFLECTS.  85 

along.  Her  name  is  not  Pickett.  She  married  an  old 
man  named  Grigs.  He  is  as  rich  as  a  Jew.  He  turned 
her  out  of  his  house  in  a  fit  of  jealousy,  and  has 
hunted  her  from  place  to  place.  If  she  knew  he  was 
dead  she  would  marry  the  Squire.  But  I  tell  her  she 
need  not  do  that  for  a  support,  because  the  law  en- 
titles her  to  a  portion  of  Grigs*  estate.  It  is  worth 
my  while  to  go  and  investigate.  What  a  relief  it  will 
be  if  Mrs.  Pickett — Grigs,  I  mean — is  left  so  well  off 
that  she  can  afford  to  pay  us  handsomely  for  her 
board,  as  I  then  could  afford,  in  my  turn,  to  save  the 
Squire  from  marrjang  a  woman  whose  antecedents 
are  doubtful,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and  whose  prin- 
ciples are  far  from  being  sound.  I  start  on  my  jour- 
ney to-morrow,  having  hired  money  for  the  purpose, 
and  trusting  to  Providence  for  repayment. 

REV.  MRS.  STRONG  REFLECTS. 

I  feel  very  uneasy  about  Squire  Woodford.  This 
widow,  that  none  of  us  know  anything  about,  is  be- 
sieging him  day  and  night.  He  says  she  would  make 
such  a  good  mother  to  his  children  if  he  can  persuade 
fher  to  accept  that  position.  Persuade  her,  indeed ! 
As  if  she  has  thought  of  anything  else  since  she  came 
here !  And  to  think  of  her  taking  the  place  of  Love 
Woodford,  my  precious,  ever-to-be-lamented  friend ! 
Oh,  how  can  men  make  such  blunders,  especially  such 
men  as  the  Squire,  who  consults  the  Lord  about  every- 
thing, just  as  little  innocent  children  talk  to  their 


36  PEMAQUID. 

mothers  !  She  can't  spoil  our  dear  Ruth  ;  the  child's 
principles  are  past  uprooting;  but  she  can  make  her 
miserable.  She  will  drive  Samuel  out  of  the  house  ; 
he  hates  a  hypocrite  beyond  anything.  And  I  can't 
make  my  husband  see  all  this.  He  says  the  Squire 
will  be  a  lucky  man  if  he  gets  such  a  cultivated 
woman  to  educate  his  children.  As  to  Kezia,  poor 
thing,  hovi;^  will  she  like  to  give  up  the  reins  she  has 
held  so  long?  And  she  had  everything  just  as  Love 
did,  and  made  the  Squire  so  comfortable  that  I'm  sure 
he  would  never  have  thought  of  marrying  again  if 
this  artful  woman  hadn't  put  it  into  his  head.  To  be 
sure  she  is  a  beauty ;  but  he  wouldn't  be  caught  by 
that. 

MRS.   PICKETT   PROCEEDS. 

This  afternoon  I  received  a  visit  from  the  Rev.  Mrs. 
Strong,  who  has  appeared  in  quite  a  new  character. 

'Mrs.  Pickett,'  she  began,  *you  have  not  been 
long  enough  in  Pemaquid  to  get  at  its  heart.  Now  I 
w^as  born  and  brought  up  here,  and  know  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  in  the  village.  And  Love  Wood- 
ford, the  Squire's  wife,  was  one  of  those  saintly  char- 
acters you  read  about  in  books,  but  don't  meet  very 
often  out  of  them.  She  lived,  and  moved,  and  had 
her  being  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  And  the  Squire, 
as  pure  and  good  a  man  as  ever  lived,  caught  her 
spirit  while  she  lived,  and  her  mantle  when  she  died. 
But  he  has  his  weak  sides,  and  is  easily  taken  in,  or. 
to  put  it  more  truly,  he  is  so  guileless  that  he  can't 


MRS.  PICKETT  PROCEEDS.  37 

believe  in  guile  in  others.  We  all  knov/ — for  Pema- 
quid  is  like  one  family,  as  it  were — that  you  can 
marry  him  to-morrow  if  you  choose.  But  ask  your 
own  conscience,  are  you  the  woman  to  lead  Love 
Woodford's  children  heavenward?  Are  you  the 
woman  to  join  the  Squire  in  his  fireside  piety,  his 
benevolent  deeds  among  the  poor  and  afflicted,  and 
to  be  loved  and  admired  by  us  all  as  he  is  loved  and 
admired  ?  Oh,  Mrs.  Pickett,  I  speak  to  you  as  with 
Love  Woodford's  voice ;  spare  her  husband  ;  spare 
her  children ;  let  that  home  be  the  Christian  home  it 
always  has  been.' 

Never  was  I  so  shaken  by  mingled  emotions  of 
indignation,  admiration,  and  shame.  To  think  that 
this  little  woman,  in  her  shabby  clothes,  had  read  me 
through  and  through !  To  think  how  the  fear  of 
God  had  robbed  her  of  all  fear  of  man  !  To  think 
of  the  depth  of  earnestness  in  that  small  frame  ! 

I  longed  to  pour  out  upon  her  all:  the  vials  of  my 
wrath ;  but  policy  forbade  it,  and  I  maintained  an 
exasperating  silence  which  left  her  in  a  most  awk- 
ward position. 

*  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me?*  she  at  last  asked. 

*  Impertinent  interference  deserves  no  ansv/er,'  I 
replied. 

She  colored  painfully. 

*  Could  I  have  been  impertinent  when  I  came  to 
you  right  from  my  knees  before  God  ? '  she  asked,  in 
such  a  tone  of  heartfelt  o-rief  that  mine  smote  me. 


38  FEMAQUID. 

'  Then  I  ask  your  pardon/  she  added,  and  went 
meekly  and  sorrowfully  away.  I  watched  her  as  she 
passed  down  the  street,  and  said  : 

'Almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian  ! ' 

RUTH  PROCEEDS. 

I  love  Mrs.  Pickett  more  and  more.,  and  I  am 
very  sorry  for  her,  too,  she  seems  so  unhappy.  There 
isn't  anything  in  the  world  I  wouldn't  do  for  her. 
She  says  it  is  so  hard  not  to  have  any  home  or  any 
money,  so  I  pray  to  God  to  give  them  to  her,  and 
He  will. 

Just  as  I  had  got  so  far,  Mrs.  Pickett  came  for  my 
lessons.  She  seemed  sadder  than  usual,  and  told 
my  father  that  Lawyer  Snell  had  been  trying  to  re- 
cover some  property  that  belonged  to  her  late  hus- 
band, but  that  it  was  so  tied  up  there  was  no  getting 
at  it.  My  father's  tender  heart  was  touched  by  her 
grief,  and  he  told  us  little  girls  to  run  away  and  play. 
By  and  by  he  called  us  back,  and  said,  '  Ruth,  my 
child,  how  would  you  like  to  have  our  friend,  Mrs. 
Pickett,  come  and  live  with  us  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  very  much,  very  much  indeed,  father  ;  and 
poor  little  Juliet,  too.' 

'  You  are  all  too  kind  to  the  widow  and  the 
orphan,'  said  Mrs.  Pickett ;  and  there  were  no  more 
lessons  that  day. 

Then  I  went  into  the  kitchen  and  told  Kezia. 

She  turned  round  and   looked  at  me,  and  then 


7?  UTH  PROCEEDS.  39 

threw  a  pan  of  biscuits  she  had  just  taken  from  the 
oven  into  the  water-pail. 

'  Kezia,  are  you  crazy?  '  I  said.  '  You've  thrown 
av/ay  the  biscuits  ! ' 

'  It  aint  me  that's  crazy,'  she  said  ;  '  it's  somebody 
else.  And  there's  more  than  biscuits  throwed  away. 
And  so  you've  forgot  your  own  ma,  and  are  tickled 
to  death  to  think  you're  a-going  to  have  a  new  one  ! 
Well,  children  will  be  children,  and  widders  will  be 
widders ;  and  that's  all  I've  got  to  say  about  it.' 

'  A  new  ma  !  '  I  cried  out.  *  O  Kezia,  you  don't 
know  anything  about  it.  She  said  she  hadn't  no 
home  and  no  money,  and  the  Snells  were  tired  of 
her;  and  I  pitied  her,  and  father  pitied  her,  and  asked 
her  to  come  here  to  live ;  but  he  didn't  say  nothing 
about  a  new  ma ! ' 

Then  Kezia  began  to  sing,  and  this  is  what  she 
said,  making  it  up  as  she  went  along — perhaps  it  is 
silly  to  write  it  down  ;  but  I  don't  know  anybody 
else  who  sings  as  often  as  she  does.  She  singr. 
when  she  feels  cross,  and  when  she's  unhappy,  and 
when  she's  happy ;  she  sings  on  thanksgiving  days, 
and  sometimes,  though  not  on  purpose,  even  on  fast- 
days: 

Well,  Kezia, 

Here's  the  Squire 

Gone  and  set  his  house  a-fire  ! 

Blessed  angels  fly  away, 

Evil  creeturs  come  to  stay  ; 

We  must  watch  and  fast  and  pray  ! 


40  PEMAQUID. 

At  least,  I  suppose  she  calls  it  singing ;  but  she 
gets  her  voice  up  to  E  sharp,  Lawyer  Snells  says,  and 
he  ought  to  know,  for  he  pitches  the  tunes  at  confer- 
ence meeting.  When  she  got  through  she  liked  her 
rhymes  so  much  that  she  went  over  them  three  or 
four  times.  I  think  myself  they  are  often  as  good  as 
Mother  Goose. 

When  she  stopped,  at  last,  she  said  : 

*  Now  run  away,  you  little  goose,  run  away, 
before  I  go  clear  distracted  and  demented.  You 
asked  her,  did  you  ?  It  was  you  that  put  your  poor 
pa  up  to  courting  her,  was  it  ?  Well,  I  am  beat  !  * 
By  this  time  her  pink  spots  were  like  two  live  coals, 
and  she  began  to  cry.  I  cried  too,  because  I  always 
cried  when  other  folks  did  ;  but  I  did  not  know  what 
I  had  done  that  was  naughty.  Samuel  came  in  while 
we  were  crying,  and  wanted  to  know  what  was  the 
matter. 

" '  We're  crying  because  we  aint  got    nothing  to 
wear  to  the  wedding,'  said  Kezia,  in  a  glum  voice. 
'  What  wedding  ?  ' 

*  Your  pa's  and  your  new  ma's.' 

'  You  needn't  tell  me  my  father's  going  to  have 
that  old  hypocrite,'  cried  Sam.  *  I  know  better.  I 
guess  he's  got  a  little  mite  of  common  sense.' 

'  She's  going  to  have  him^  at  any  rate,'  said  Kezia, 
'  and  she  won't  let  the  grass  grow  under  her  feet  till 
it's  done.  La!  her  wedding  dress  is  all  made,  I'll 
warrant.' 


i?  UTH  PROCEEDS.  41 

Samuel  made  a  horrible  face,  and  went  out  and 
began  to  split  wood. 

*  I  sha'n't  want  any  supper,'  said  he. 

The  next  day  Lawyer  Snell  came  driving  down 
as  gay  as  could  be,  and  he  and  my  father  were  shut 
up  together  two  or  three  hours.  After  he  had  gone 
my  father  walked  up  and  down,  and  I  heard  him  sigh 
a  good  many  times. 

'  I  hope  I've  done  right,'  he  kept  saying  to  him- 
self. '  I  hope  I  have  chosen  a  good  mother  for  my 
children.'  But  he  seemed  uneasy,  and  as  near  to 
being  worried  as  he  could  be. 

It  w^asn't  long  before  there  was  a  wedding,  sure 
enough,  and  Mrs.  Pickett  came  home  to  our  house  to 
live,  and  Juliet  came  too. 

*  I  declare,'  said  Kezia,  '■  if  your  new  ma  aint  a 
rummaging  amongst  all  your  own  ma's  things !  She's 
clearing  out  all  the  bureau  drawers,  and  all  the 
closets,  and  a-putting  her  finery  in.  It's  enough  to 
make  your  own  ma  rise  from  her  grave !  And  that 
young  one  has  got  your  ma's  work-basket  a-dragging 
it  all  over  the  house  !     Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear  me ! 

To-day  my  new  mother  asked  me  if  I  knew  what 
father  shut  himself  up  three  times  a  day  for,  and  it  i 
it  was  to  count  money.  I  said  I  knew  what  it  was 
for,  but  did  not  like  to  tell.  Then  she  said  she 
should  punish  me  severely  if  I  did  not  tell.  I  waited 
as  long  as  I  dared,  and  then  I  said,  very  low : 


42  PEMAQUID. 

*  Praying !  What  for  ?  Is  anything  worrying 
him?' 

'  It  isn't  worry  that  makes  him  pray/  I  said.  '  He 
loves  to  pray.    All  good  people  do.     Don't  you  ? ' 

That  was  a  very  rude  question,  she  said. 

A  little  while  afterward  we  were  all  sitting  to- 
gether, and  Juliet  got  angry  with  me  and  slapped 
me  in  the  face.  My  father  saw  her.  He  never  hap- 
pened to  see  her  do  that  before.  The  next  time  I 
w^as  alone  v/ith  him  he  said : 

'  My  little  daughter,  are  you  very  unhappy  ? ' 

I  was  not  at  all  unhappy  just  at  that  minute ; 
how  could  I  be  when  he  was  putting  his  arms  round 
me,  and  looking  so  kind  ?  And  if  I  had  complained 
about  anything  it  would  have  troubled  him,  and  he 
had  trouble  enough  without  me. 

'  I  want  to  ask  my  little  girl  a  few  questions,'  he 
went  on.  'Are  you  ever  tempted  to  strike  Juliet 
when  she  strikes  you  ?  ' 

'  Oh  no,  father.' 

'  When  she  stole  the  pocket-piece  that  your  own 
mother  left  you,  had  you  any  vindictive  feelings  ? ' 

I  was  not  sure  I  knew  what  vindictive  meant. 
If  it  meant  that  I  wanted  her  to  be  whipped,  then  I 
hadn't.  It  is  bad  enough  to  be  whipped  myself,  es- 
pecially when  I  did  not  know  what  it  was  for.  But 
I  did  not  tell  father  that.  It  might  be  a  tempta- 
tion to  him  to  get  angry  with  my  new  mother. 

*  You  have  been  brought  up  to  fear  God.     Does 


R  UTH  PROCEEDS.  43 

hearing  other  people  make  a  jest  of  Divine  things 
weaken  that  fear  in  the  very  least  ? ' 

*.  No,  father,  not  in  the  very  least.     It  never  will.' 

'  Hush  !  don't  say  that.  We  are  very  weak  creat- 
ures, and  children  are  greatly  under  the  influence  of 
their  elders.  Say  that  you  will  pray,  every  day  of 
your  life,  to  have  Almighty  God  in  constant  rever- 
ence, as  becomes  His  holy  name.' 

I  don't  think  I  can  ever  forget  how  he  looked  at 
me,  as  if  he  would  look  me  through. 

The  very  next  day  we  children  were  all  in  the 
kitchen  together,  and  Juliet  got  angry  with  me  and 
pulled  my  hair,  till  the  tears  rolled  down  my  cheeks. 
It  wasn't  cr}dng,  it  was  only  tears  rolling  down. 
Then  Kezia  flew  at  Juliet  like  a  tiger,  only  I  never 
saw  a  tiger,  and  boxed  her  ears  soundly.  Juliet  set 
up  a  dreadful  scream,  and  her  mother  came  hurrying 
out  to  see  what  the  matter  was.  She  never  said  a 
word,  but  walked  to  the  closet,  took  out  a  mince 
pie,  and  gave  it  to  Juliet.  Now  there's  nothing  puts 
Kezia  out  like  seeing  children  eat  between  meals, 
and  my  new  mother  knew  it.  And  Kezia  knew  that 
if  Juliet  ate  a  whole  mince  pie  she  would  have  a 
sick  spell  in  the  night,  and  keep  everybody  awake. 
And  sure  enough,  she  was  sick,  for  as  I  sleep  with 
her  I  know  all  about  it ;  and  Kezia,  poor  thing,  had 
to  get  up  and  heat  water,  and  hunt  for  peppermint ; 
and  father  got  up,  too,  and  dressed  himself,  for  he 
could  not  sleep  in  such  an  uproar. 


IV. 

"LoDk  on  this  picture,  and  on  this." 
MRS.   WOODFORD   PROCEEDS. 

AT  last  I  have  a  hearth  and  a  home  of  my  own  ; 
but  at  what  a  price  I  Joshua  Snell  learned  that 
my  cruel  husband  was  dead ;  but  he  also  learned,  as 
I  ought  to  have  foreseen  he  would,  the  side  of  my 
story  told  by  my  enemies.  He  has  come  to  hold 
falsehood  I  can  not  confront  over  my  head.  As  to 
the  estate  of  old  Grigs,  he  had  blundered  a  large 
part  of  it  away,  and  Snell  advises  me  not  to  put  in  a 
claim  for  any  part  of  it,  on  the  ground  that  I  am 
only  safe  while  concealed.  I  seem  fated  to  have  no 
rest  in  this  world.  Any  day  the  Snells  may  let  loose 
against  me  these  vile  rumors.  Deborah,  with  her 
husband's  help,  has  made  me  out  a  large  bill  for 
board,  to  which  she  has  added  the  price  of  various 
articles  broken  by  Juliet  in  her  tantrums.  Now 
money  is  the  last  thing  to  be  had.  The  people  here 
make  'trades,' as  they  call  it,  with  the  productions 
of  their  farms ;  but  Deborah  declines  to  trade  with 
me,  and  insists  on  being  paid  forthwith.  I  shall  re- 
construct  affairs  in   the  kitchen,  putting  them  on  a 

more    economical    foundation,    and    every   cent  the 

(44) 


KEZIA  PROCEEDS.  45 

Squire  gives  me  for  household  expenses  shall  go  to 
my  rapacious  relative  (who,  as  I  knew  of  course,  all 
along,  is  next  to  no  relation).  Then  Lawyer  ^Snell 
has  presented  a  fearful  bill  for  traveling  expenses  in 
the  journey  he  made  on  my  behalf;  so  that  I  am 
eaten  up  with  care.  Then  to  keep  the  peace  with 
that  termagant,  Kezia,  taxes  my  wits  to  the  last  de- 
gree. As  for  Juliet,  she  and  Samuel  keep  up  an 
incessant  feud,  while  poor  little  weak-spirited  Ruth 
is  all  the  time  trying  to  keep  the  peace.  Then  the 
Squire's  ways  are  a  great  mystery.  Three  times  a 
day  he  locks  himself  into  a  little  room  off  the  sitting- 
room,  and  what  he  is  doing  there  does  not  transpire. 
I  found  a  note  in  one  of  his  pockets  to-day  which  is 
my  nest-egg,  and  will  go  toward  paying  those  irk- 
some debts.  Deborah  comes  over  regularly  every 
day  to  harass  me  about  them. 

'  If  you  was  a  good,  straightforward  woman,'  she 
says,  '  you'd  just  tell  the  Squire  how  things  is.  He's 
one  of  the  reasonablest  men  I  ever  see.' 

I  tell  her  I  wouldn't  have  him  know  about  it  on 
any  account.     It  is  always  best  to  manage. 

KEZIA   PROCEEDS. 

"  Well,  now,  Mis'  Snell,  things  is  going  on  awful  to 
our  house ;  wuss  than  I  expected.  I  take  it  very 
hard  that  you  never  told  me  what  a  bad  child  that 
Juliet  Pickett  is. 

'^  *  Her   name   aint    Pickett,  it's   Grigs,'   says   Mis' 


46  PEMAQUID. 

Snell.  *  Her  ma  had  been  doing  something  out  of  the 
way,  I  don't  know  what,  and  so  she  changed  her 
name  to  Pickett.  It  don't  look  well  when  people 
change  their  names,'  ses  she. 

''  '  Indeed  it  don't,'  ses  I.  '  But  I  can't  stand 
•things  much  longer,  and  I  think  the  Squire  is  gettin' 
his  eyes  open.  The  way  that  girl  tyrannizes  over  our 
poor  little  Ruth  makes  my  blood  run  cold.  Then 
Samuel  interferes,  and  Juliet  runs  screaming  to  her 
mother,  who  always  takes  her  part.  And  then  the 
way  all  my  good  things  go  off  on  the  sly !  Not  that 
we  live  now  as  we  used  to  live.  It's  scrimp  here  and 
scrimp  there,  and  save  this  and  save  that.  If  you'll 
believe  me,  the  day  before  Thanksgivin'  I  was  a 
gittin'  ready  for  it,  and  she  comes  out,  and  ses  she, 
'Why,  Kezia,  what's  all  this?' 

*' '  Gittin'  ready  for  Thanksgivin','  ses  I. 

"  *  Are  you  expecting  all  Pemaquid  to  dinner?'  ses 
she.     '  I  should  think  you  were.' 

"  '  Nobody's  coming  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Strong  and 
their  baby.  We  always  have  our  minister  to  Thanks- 
givin',' ses  I. 

"  '  And  is  all  this  wicked  waste  for  him  ? ' 

"  *  'Taint  waste.  All  for  him  ?  No,  indeed.  Them 
six  turkeys  is  to  go  to  six  poor  widders ;  them 
chickens  is  to  go  to  the  poor-house,  along  of  lots  of 
pies,  puddln's,  and  apples  ;  that  ere  chicken-pie  is  for 
old  Mis'  Harris ;  them  mince-pies  is  to  go  to  our  min- 
ister, along  of  a  turkey  and  some  sassenges  ;  that — ' 


KEZIA  PROCEEDS.  47 

"  'You  have  the  minister  here  to  dinner,  and  send 
him  a  dinner  besides? '  ses  she. 

"  'Of  course  v/e  do/  ses  I.  '  La,  the  Squire's  git- 
tin'  out  the  sleigh  now,  and  I  must  pack  it  right 
away,'  ses  I,  '  for  he  makes  great  account  of  carrying 
things  round  to  the  poor  himself.'  She  looked  as  if 
she  should  drop. 

"  '  I  never  heard  of  such  extravagance,'  ses  she.  '  I 
shall  put  up  with  it  this  once,  but  never  again.  I 
forbid  your  impoverishing  the  family  in  this  way.' 

"  'You  might  just  as  well  try  to  stop  the  sun  from 
risin',  as  to  stop  the  Squire  from  giving  to  the  poor,' 
ses  I. 

*'  '  Well,  he  don't  give  money,  at  any  rate,'  ses  she, 
a-chuckling. 

"  '  Don't  give  money  ?  Then  what  does  our  minis- 
ter live  on,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  And  what  does 
them  six  widders  buy  their  tea  with  ?  ' 

"  By  this  time  she  looked  so  miserable  I  thought  I 
wouldn't  tell  her  what  he'd  put  into  the  contribution- 
box  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

"  She's  no  more  feelin'  for  the  poor  than  them  pair 
of  andirons  ;  no,  not  so  much,  for  they'll  hold  wood 
to  warm  the  poor  creatures  by,  and  she'd  pull  it  off 
with  her  own  hands  if  she  could.  All  the  feelin's  she 
has  is  for  that  tyke  of  hers ;  and  what  does  she  get 
by  that?  Why,  the  girl  makes  fun  of  her  to  her 
face." 


48  PEMAQUID. 


MRS.   WOODFORD   PROCEEDS. 

The  Squire  must  make  more  money  because  his 
wife  must  Jiave  money.  And  I  have  made  a  great 
discovery.  He  owns  immense  water-power,  which  is 
?'  now  running  to  waste.  I  represent  that  a  factory  of 
some  sort  ought  to  be  built.  He  rubs  his  hands  to- 
gether, and  says  he  can't  afford  it.  Now  I  am  going 
around  to  stir  up  other  men  to  join  in  the  enterprise. 
I  can  persuade  men  to  commit  murder  if  I  choose. 

I  need  something  to  distract  my  mind,  for  JuHet 
grows  more  headstrong  every  day.  t  asked  Mr. 
Woodford  if  he  could  afford  it,  and  was  willing  to 
send  her  away  to  school.  I  am  capable  of  instruct- 
ing her,  but  she  does  not  believe  it,  and  I  have  no 
power  over  her  or  influence  with  her. 

ruth's  journal  CONTINUED. 

I  w^as  in  hopes  my  new  mother  would  teach  me 
after  she  came  here,  but  she  has  not  time.  She  is 
busy  writing  in  a  large  blank  book.  Perhaps  she  has 
troubles  to  tell  to  it  just  as  I  do  to  my  little  oiie. 
Kezia  says  she  acts  as  if  she  expected  a  wild  Indian 
to  spring  out  upon  her  from  somewhere  every  minu'  e. 
She  says  a  good  many  other  things  it  would  be  naughty 
in  me  to  write  down. 

She  is  very  unhappy,  Kezia  is.  She  says  she  isn't 
living  consistent,  and  can't,  with  her  temptations. 
Father  says  she  has  got  a  great,  big,  warm,  kind 


RUTH'S  JOURNAL  CONTINUED.       49 

heart,  and  we  must  overlook  her  failings.  He  says 
his  motto  is,  and  always  has  been,  '  Give  and  forgive.' 
I  mean  to  take  it  for  mine. 

So  I  shall  give  Juliet  any  of  my  things  she  wants. 
I  do  not  think  she  will  want  my  Bible  or  my  ''  Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  so  I  can  keep  them.  And  when  she  wants 
the  seat  next  to  the  fire  I  shall  let  her  have  it.  And 
I  shall  forgive  my  new  mother  everything,  and  never 
tell  anybody  as  long  as  I  live  what  she  has  done  to 
me.  And  I  shall  pray  day  and  night  about  it,  say- 
ing, '  O  God,  make  me  give  I  Make  me  for^w^ ! 
Mak^  me  give  !     Make  me  forgive  ! ' 

Such  a  wonderful  Providence  as  I  have  had  since 
I  wrote  that !     I  must  write  it  all  down. 

One  cold  day  in  March,  Kezia  went  up  into  the 
garret  and  got  a  little  hair-trunk  that  had  been  up 
there,  full  pf  herbs,  ever  since  I  was  born,  I  guess. 
She  had  it  in  the  kitchen,  dusting  it ;  and  when  she 
had  spread  a  clean  towel  over  the  bottom  of  it,  she 
says  to  me : 

*  You  bring  anything  down  you  want  to  take  with 
you,  except  your  clothes.     /'//  see  to  them.' 

'  Anything  to  take  where  ?  '  I  said. 
-  '  Why,  aint  your  pa  told  you  ?  ' 

*  No,  indeed.' 

'  I  expect  he  couldn't  for  the  lump  in  his  throat. 
Much  as  ever  he  could  do  to  tell  me.  Well,  you're 
going  where  there  aint  any  new  ma  a-slouching  round. 


50  F  EM  A  QUID. 

nor  no  Juliets  to  slap  you  in  the  face.  You're  going 
to  your  pa's  ma,  and  she'll  be  good  to  you,  and  you'll 
be  good  to  her.  Only  you  won't  have  your  poor  old 
cross  Kezia,  and  she  won't  have  you !  And  here's 
eight  little  mites  of  pies  for  you,  just  as  if  it  was 
Thanksgivin'  Day.  You  eat  the  cranberry  tart  for 
your  dinner  on  your  way  to  Kittery  P'int,  and  the  ap- 
ple tart  for  your  supper,  for  you  won't  get  there  till 
night.  You  see,  there  aint  anybody  where  you're 
goin'  that'll  realize  you're  a  little  girl  and  fond  of  lit- 
tle pies.' 

I  never  saw  any  tarts  like  Kczia's.  She  covered 
them  with  bunches  of  grapes,  made  of  pie-crust,  cut 
out  with  a  key,  and  made  grape-leaves  and  little  ten- 
drils too.  But  I  did  not  care  anything  about  them, 
I  was  so  glad  I  was  going  away.  I  hadn't  made  any 
fuss  about  anything  my  new  mother  did  or  anything 
Juliet  did  ;  but  now  I  ran  up-stairs  and  locked  my 
door  and  cried.  Oh,  how  I  cried  !  And  when  I  felt 
better,  and  was  going  down  again,  I  met  my  father ; 
and  he  put  me  back  into  my  room,  and  locked  the 
door  again,  and  took  me  in  his  arms,  apd  his  great 
breast  went  up  and  down  as  if  something  inside  of 
it  was  going  to  burst ;  and  then  I  cried  harder  than 
ever.  At  last  we  got  quiet  ;  and  when  father  went 
to  open  the  door,  there  was  Juliet's  great  black  eye 
at  the  key-hole. 

I  had  never  seen  grandma.  About  the  time  I 
was  born  she  had  a  fall,  and  broke  her  hip  and  was 


7?  UTH 'S  JO  URNAL  CONTINUED.         51 

hurt  in  her  spine ;  and  though  my  father  went  to  see 
her  twice  a  year,  he  never  took  mc,  though  he  often 
took  Samuel.  He  told  me  on  the  journey  that  it 
wasn't  good. for  a  Httle  girl  like  me  to  see  an  old  per- 
son suffer  as  she  did,  but  that  lately  her  pain  was 
greatly  relieved. 

When  we  went  in  he  said  to  her  : 

*  Mother,  I've  brought  you  my  ewe-lam.b  to  keep  ; ' 
and  she  put  her  arms  out  and  I  went  right  in,  for  I 
don't  think  anybody  could  help  it  who  saw  that  sweet, 
shining  old  face.  It  was  night  and  I  was  tired,  and 
Rachel,  grandma's  girl,  helped  me  to  get  to  bed  ;  and 
when  I  got  in  I  found  she'd  warmed  it  with  a  warm- 
ing-pan !  In  the  morning  they  told  me  my  father 
could  not  stand  it  to  say  good-bye,  and  had  been  gone 
two  hours. 

After  breakfast,  that  I  had  right  by  grandma's 
bed,  she  made  me  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  and 
then  she  had  family  prayers  with  me  and  Rachel. 
Then  I  helped  Rachel  about  the  house,  and  by  eight 
o'clock  all  the  work  was  done ;  and  grandma  made 
me  bring  all  my  clothes,  and  she  looked  them  over 
and  found  some  of  them  needed  mending,  and  told  me 
where  to  get  patches  and  how  to  sew  them  on.  Then 
she  gave  me  a  sheet  to  patch,  but  I  couldn't  hold  it 
in  my  little  hands,  and  so  she  showed  me  how  to  sew 
it  on,  over  and  over,  and  then  crease  the  seam  down 
with  my  thumb.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  handy  way 
to  put  on  a  large  patch. 


52  ■       PEMAQUID. 

When  the  clock  struck  twelve  Rachel  brought  in 
her  dinner  on  a  little  tray. 

*  Here's  your  dinner,  grandma,'  says  she ;  '  and 
Ruth  can  eat  with  you  if  she  wants  to.' 

I  said  I  did  ;  and  we  two  had  our  dinner  together. 
Grandma  shut  her  eyes  and  folded  her  hands  and 
asked  a  blessing  first. 

After  dinner  she  took  a  little  nap,  and  when  she 
woke  up  she  told  me  to  bring  all  my  lesson  books  and 
let  her  hear  my  lessons. 

I  recited  to  her  in  geography  and  spelling,  and 
then  she  told  me  to  sit  down  and  write  a  copy.  Then 
she  made  me  read  one  chapter  in  "  The  Saint's  Ever- 
lasting Rest  "  and  one  chapter  in  "  Owen  on  Spiritual- 
Mi  ndedn  ess." 

'You  don't  understand  what  you  read,  poor 
child,'  says  she.  '  But  never  mind.  You  will  by 
and  by.  Now  come  close  up  to  me,  and  let  us 
have  a  good  talk.  What  sort  of  a  little  girl  are 
you,  Ruth  ?  ' 

*  O  grandma,  I'm  just  as  naughty  as  I  can  be ! ' 

'  I    hope   not,'    says   she.     '  Come   tell   grandma 
all   about   it.     Grandma   won't    be   hard   with   you 
child.' 

'  Well,  grandma,  it  says  in  the  Bible  if  anybody 
smites  you  on  one  cheek  you  must  turn  the  other 
cheek  to  her.  That  means  I  should  let  Juliet  slap 
me  as  much  as  she's  a  mind.' 

'  Does  it?  '  says  grandma. 


J?  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL  CON  TIN  UED.         53 

'Why,  yes,  grandma.  And  I  never  do.  I  run 
away  and  hide.' 

'  Well,  what  else  ?  ' 

'  And  cold  nights  I  don't  like  to  get  into  bed  first 
to  warm  a  place  for  her.' 

*  And  so  you  never  do  ?  ' 

'  O  yes,  I  always  do.  But  I  don't  like  to.  If  I 
was  good  I  should  like  to,  you  know.' 

'■  Is  there  anything  else  ?  * 

'  Yes.  I  like  father  a  great  deal  better  than 
I  like  mother ! ' 

'  That  will  do,'  says  grandma.  '  You  and  I  are 
going  to  tiy  now  to  see  how  good  Vv^e  can  be.  You 
shall  help  me  and  I  will  help  you.' 

*  Why,  grandma !  how  can  I  help  you  ?  And 
aint  you  just  as  good  as  can  be  now  ?  Father  said 
so.     Father  said — ' 

'  Never  mind  what  he  said.  We  are  both  going 
to  try  to  be  as  good  as  we  can  be.  We  are  going  to 
pray  together,  and  to  read  the  Bible  together,  and 
grow  good  together.' 

I  liked  that.  I  like  grandma  very  much.  And  I 
guess  it  will  be  pretty  easy  to  be  good  here.  As  soon 
as  I  get  very  good  indeed  I  mean  to  ask  grandma  to 
let  me  join  the  Church.  I  asked  mother  once,  and  she 
laughed  and  said  she  guessed  I  was  well  enough  as  I 
was.     She  said  it  wasn't  no  use  to  join  the  Church. 

I  haven't  written  in  this  book  since  my  birthday. 


54  PEMAQUID. 

I  don't  like  to  write  very  well ;  but  I  mean  to  write 
New  Year's  Days  and  Thanksgivings. 

It  is  six  months  since  I  came  here,  and  I  am  thir- 
teen and  a  half  now.  I  like  to  stay  here.  Grandma 
is  just  as  nice  as  can  be.  She  says  she  is  afraid  it's 
lonesome  for  me  sitting  all  day  with  an  old  woman 
like  her.  But  I  aint  lonesome  at  all.  I  am  learning 
to  sew  beautifully.  And  I  say  lessons  every  day. 
Grandma  says  she  don't  know  much,  but  what  she 
does  know  she'll  teach  me.  I  go  to  meeting  every 
Sunday  morning,  and  in  the  afternoon  Rachel  goes 
and  I  stay  with  grandma.  Before  I  came,  grandma 
used  to  stay  all  alone  in  the  house  while  Rachel  was 
gone.  Father  said  it  was  not  safe.  For  if  the  house 
should  get  on  fire,  poor  grandma  would  be  burnt  up. 

Now  I  have  no  one  to  plague  me,  I  should  think 
I  might  be  perfectly  good.  But  I  aint.  I  do  not 
dare  to  ask  grandma  to  let  me  join  the  Church,  be- 
cause I  know  she  would  say  I  must  wait  till  I  was 
better.  I  pray  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  maybe  God 
will  hear  me  some  time. 

There  was  an  old  lady  here  yesterday  to  see 
grandma.  They  talked  together  about  loving  Christ. 
They  seemed  to  love  Him  so  much !  And  then  they 
prayed  together.  Grandma  often  has  dear  old  ladies 
come  and  pray  with  her.  While  they  were  praying  I 
thought  I  felt  just  as  they  felt.  I  thought  I  truly 
loved  God.  But  when  the  old  lady  was  going  away, 
she  said  to  grandma  : 


RUTH'S  JOURNAL  CONTINUED.         55 

*  What  a  comfort  this  child  must  be  to  you  !  How 
attentive  and  gentle  she  is  ! ' 

And  grandma  said,  '  Yes.' 

Then  Satan  he  up  and  whispered  : 

*  Do  you  hear  that  ?  They  both  praise  you,  and 
such  old  ladies  ought  to  know.' 

So  I  suppose  it  can't  be  that  I  really  love  God. 
If  I  did  Satan  would  not  dare  to  say  such  things  to 
me. 

I  am  fourteen  to-day.  Ever  so  old  that  is.  Since 
my  last  birthday  I  have  grown  ever  so  much.  I  have 
had  to  let  down  all  the  tucks  in  my  dresses,  and  piece 
down  all  my  sleeves.  Grandma  says  if  I  am  clean  and 
whole  it's  no  matter  if  I  am  pieced. 

Father  has  been  to  see  me  once  since  New  Year's. 
He  says  I  have  grown  plump  and  healthy.  I  suppose 
it  is  because  I  don't  have  anybody  to  plague  me. 

I  noticed  to-day,  more  than  usual,  how  much 
grandma  says  about  her  sins  when  she  prays.  So  I 
asked  her  what  she  could  do  that  was  bad,  lying  still 
there  in  bed. 

'  You  know  the  catechism,'  says  she.  '  What  does 
the  catechism  say  sin  is  ? ' 

*  Any  want  of  conformity  to  the  will  of  God.' 

'  You  see,  then,  my  heart  can  sin  while  my  hands 
and  feet  are  idle.' 

*  But  it  dosen't  seem  as  if  you  did  anything 
wrong,  grandma.' 

*  You  think,  then,  that  it  was  not  needful  Christ 


56  PEMAQUID. 

should  die  for  me  ?  that  I  could  get  to  heaven  with- 
out Him?' 

'Oh,  no,  grandma.  But  it  seems  so  strange 
for  any  one  that  really  loves  Him  to  go  on 
sinning.' 

'Yes,  it  does  seem  strange,'  said  she,  'passing 
strange.  But  it  is  true  as  it  is  strange  that  even  God's 
own  dear  children  do  sometimes  wound  and  grieve 
Him.' 

'  Do  you  think,  grandma— but  no,  I  am  sure  you 
can't  think  so.  I  was  going  to  ask  you  if  you 
thought  I  should  ever  be  good  enough  to  join  the 
Church?' 

'  No,  dear,  never.  But  whether  Christ  is  good 
enough  to  wrap  you  in  the  robe  of  His  righteousness, 
that  is  another  question.  And  that  you  can  answer 
as  well  as  I.  You  see,  dear,'  she  went  on,  after  a 
while,  '  it  is  just  as  if  some  great  man  should  invite 
you  to  a  feast  at  his  house.  You  might  say,  I  should 
like  to  go,  but  I  have  nothing  fit  to  wear.  And  he 
would  reply.  But  I  will  give  you  the  wedding-gar- 
ment, and  that  will  make  you  fit.' 

Then  it  all  at  once  seemed  plain  to  me  that  I 
might  get  a  wedding-garment. 

Grandma  said  yes,  and  that  Christ  was  more  will- 
ing to  give  it  than  I  was  to  receive  it. 

After  I  came  up  to  bed  I  thought  a  good  deal 
about  it.  I  am  small  of  my  age,  and  backward,  and 
the  Woodfords  don't  take  to  book-learning.     But  for 


RUTH'S  JOURNAL  CONTINUED.         57 

all  that,  somehow,  I  do  believe  I  love  God,  and  love 
the  people  that  love  Him.  And  I  don't  think  I  should 
be  afraid  now  to  stand  up  in  the  broad  aisle  and  join 
the  Church.     And,  if  grandma  is  willing,  I  shall. 
3* 


V. 

•*0h,  what  a  thing  is  man  ;  how  far  from  power, 
From  settled  peace  and  rest ! 
He  is  some  twenty  several  men,  at  least, 
Each  several  hour."- 

— Geo.  Herbert. 

LAWYER  SNELL  CONFIDES  TO   "WIFE." 

THAT  woman  ought  to  have  been  a  man.  She'll 
never  rest,  or  let  any  of  us  rest,  till  she  gets  that 
factory  built.  And  'taint  so  bad  a  thing  either.  I'll 
take  ten  shares  in  it.  It  will  make  all  the  difference 
in  the  world  to  Pemaquid.  The  Squire's  quite  inter- 
ested in  the  scheme,  and  so's  Deacon  Stone  and 
Josiah.  Josiah  is  getting  to  be  quite  a  man.  We'll 
get  the  factory  built,  and  then  we'll  see  what  else  we 
can  do. 

What  kind  of  a  factory  ?  Why,  a  cotton  factory. 
Kezia  Millet  has  taken  a  share,  if  you'll  believe  it. 
She's  made  money  in  all  these  years  at  the  Squire's, 
and  now  she  wants  more,  though  what  for  I  can't 
guess. 

Oh,  for  her  mother  ?  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  for  her 
mother.  Well,  to  go  back  to  Mrs.  Woodford.  There 
aint  a  man  in  the  village  whose  head  she  hasn't  turn- 
ed. She  can  be  as  agreeable,  when  she  pleases,  as 
(58) 


MRS.    WOODFORD  IS  RESTIVE.  59 

need  be.     But  the  more  the  men  Hke  her  the  more 
you  women  are  against  her.     It's  always  so. 

She  hasn't  turned  my  head  ?  No,  no  ;  I  am  too 
old  a  bird  for  that.  But  I  wish  I  had  her  more  in 
my  power.  I  know  enough  of  her  past  life  to  keep 
her  in  constant  terror,  but  not  enough  to  ruin  her. 
And  I  do  not  want  to  ruin  her.  All  I  want  is  to 
have  our  honest  debts  paid,  though  no  amount  of 
money  can  pay  for  all  you  went  through  with  her  and 
hers.  Are  you  particular  to  go  over  every  day  and 
labor  with  her  about  that  debt  ?  That's  right.  And 
I  believe  I  will  step  over  every  evening.  Between  us 
both  she  will  get  exasperated  into  confessing  to  the 
Squire.  I  do  not  care  so  much  about  the  money. 
What  I  want  is  to  bring  her  to  repentance.  And  if 
anything  will  bring  her  to  repentance,  it  will  be  our 
giving  her  no  peace. 


MRS.    WOODFORD    IS   RESTIVE. 

It  would  have  been  better  to  run  the  risk  of 
having  two  husbands  at  once  than  to  have  sent  this 
small-minded  Joshua  Snell  into  the  midst  of  my  ene- 
mies and  their  infamous  falsehoods.  He  and  Debo- 
rah make  me  weary  of  my  life.  If  I  could  only  pay 
them  that  wretched  money  I  might  begin  to  have  a 
little  peace.  However,  I  am  wron^  there.  There  is 
no  peace  for  the  mother  of  such  a  girl  as  Juliet.  The 
Squire  says  he  would  cheerfully  send  her  to  a  board- 


60  F  EM  A  QUID. 

ing-school  if  he  could  afford  it,  but  that  he  can  not 
command  money  enough. 

^  She  has  nothing  lady-Hke  in  her,  but  in  spite  of 
all  my  remonstrances  goes  to  all  the  huskings  and 
other  rustic  amusements  of  the  village,  is  very  rude 
and  free  with  the  set  of  boy-men  who  frequent  such 
places,  and  unless  I  can  send  her  away  will  grow  up 
like  the  vulgar  herd  about  her.  Then  how  Samuel 
grins  at  me,  and  flings  out  hints  about  '  Old  Grigs ! ' 
What  does  the  boy  know,  I  wonder  ? 

Then  there's  Kezia !  She  is  enough  to  drive  an 
angel  mad  with  the  hideous  doggerel  she  shrieks 
about  the  house.  To-day  I  caught  her  boxing  her 
own  ears. 

'  Have  you  gone  crazy  ? '  I  asked  her. 

*  No,  I  haven't  gone  crazy,*  she  returned.  '  I 
wish  I  had  !  It  v/ould  be  better  than  being  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Church,  as  I  be,  and  not  living  consistent. 
And  Mis'  Woodford,  our  Ruth's  mother,  she  made 
me  promise  to  humble  my  pride.  So  I  have  humbled 
it  by  boxing  my  ears.  And  if  you'd  do  the  same  by 
your'n  it  would  help  you  wonderful.' 

Perhaps  it  would  ;  but  I  should  prefer  to  box 
Deborah  Snell's. 

WHAT  RUTH   HAS  TO.   SAY. 
Grandma  says  we  are  a  pair  of  twins.     That  is, 
that  she  is  as  young  as  I  am,  and  that  I  am  as  old  as 
she  is.    We  all  get  along  together  beautifully.    There 


WHA  T  R  UTH  HAS  TO  SA  V.  61 

is  never  any  scolding  or  fault-finding,  or  selfishness 
in  the  house.  Only  pious  people  ever  come  here, 
and  all  their  talk  is  about  good  things.  Grandma 
thinks  and  talks  a  great  deal  about  heaven,  and  that 
makes  me  think  about  it;  but  I  don't  dare  to  say 
anything ;  I  don't  know  enough.  Grandma  says  she 
shall  go  there  long  before  I  do,  and  that  she  wants 
me  to  get  so  out  of  the  way  of  being  selfish  now  that 
I  shall  be  more  taken  up  Avith  being  glad  for  her  than 
with  being  soj'ry  for  myself  when  she  goes.  When 
she  talks  that  way  I  don't  feel  like  a  twin  at  all.  I 
can't  bear  to  think  of  her  dying.  Nobody  ever  help- 
ed me  as  she  has.  Nobody  ever  set  me  to  reading 
such  books  as  she  has.  If  she  could  live  forever  I 
should  like  to  live  forever  too.  But  she  can't.  She 
is  very  old  and  very  feeble,  and  if  she  dies,  what  shall 
I  do  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  It  is  not  safe  for  me  to 
live  with  bad  people  ;  I  am  not  good  enough.  Even 
in  this  house,  with  these  two  old  saints  (I  was  going 
to  say  angels,  but  I  suppose  t/iej^  never  grow  old),  I 
feel  wicked  rebellion  and  resentment  in  my  heart 
when  I  think  of  my  new  mother  and  of  Juliet.  This 
is  all  that  makes  me  realize  that  I  am  not  in  heaven. 
For  to  live  with  saints,  and  to  try,  all  the  time,  to  be 
like  them,  is  the  gate  of  heaven,  anyhow. 

I  walked  down  to  the-sea-shore  to-day  to  see  the 
waves  dash  against  the  rocks  after  the  great  storm 
we  had  yesterday.  By  and  by  a  little  bird  came 
flying  in,  all  tired  out  with  fighting  against  the  wind^ 


62  PEMAQUID. 

and  dropped  almost  dead  at  my  feet.  I  took  it  up 
and  warmed  it  in  my  bosom.  It  cuddled  down  there 
like  a  kitten.  And  that's  the  way  I  cuddle  down  in 
grandma's  arms.  Nobody  can  know  what  it  is  like 
who  hasn't  tried  it. 

I  don't  worry  about  father  at  all.  He's  'way 
up  beyond  storms.  I  don't  know  but  to  get  where 
he  is  I  should  much  mind  having  such  awful  things 
happen  to  me  as  have  happened  to  him. 

I  can  see  the  ocean  from  the  window  of  my 
room.  I  like  to  see  it  by  moonlight.  The  light  goes 
tipping  over  it  on  little  tiny  feet.  At  least  that's 
the  way  it  looks  to  me.  Rachel  says  it  doesn't  look 
so  to  her ;  but  then  she  says  things  never  do  look 
exactly  alike  to  different  people. 

'How  large  does  the  full  moon  look  to  you?' 
says  she. 

*  About  as  big  as  a  tea-plate.' 

*  It  looks  to  me,'  she  said,  '  as  large  as  a  wagon- 
wheel.     So  you  see  how  it  is.'  " 

KEZIA   GOES   HOME   FOR   GOOD. 

*'  There,  mother,  don't  ask  me  no  questions,  nor 
say  another  word !  You  jist  sit  down  in  the  corner 
where  you  used  to  sit  afore  I  went  away,  and  let  me 
put  my  head  in  your  lap  and  cry,  just  as  I  did  then. 

''  Have  I  come  home  for  good  ?  Yes,  I  have  come 
home  for  good.  Do  I  feel  better  now  I've  had  my 
cry  ?    Yes,  I  do  feel  better  now  I've  had  my  cry. 


KEZIA  GOES  HOME  FOR  GOOD.  63 

"  Don't  I  want  a  cup  of  tea?  No,  I  don't  want  no 
cups  of  tea.  I  want  to  git  the  burden  off  of  my  heart, 
and  there  aint  no  way  to  git  it  off  unless  your  mother 
can  git  it  off  for  you.  You  see  things  have  got  to 
such  a  pass  to  our  house  that  I  couldn't  stand  it  no 
longer.  I  was  a-losing  all  my  religion,  and  had  a  bad 
conscience  gnawing  at  me  all  the  time  because  my 
temper  was  riled  and  riled  and  riled. 

"  Wouldn't  it  ha'  been  better  to  put  up  with 
things  ? 

"  Yes,  it  would  have  been  better  to  put  up  with 
things  if  I  could.  And  if  she'd  a  bit  and  a  barked, 
why,  I  could  a  bit  and  a  barked,  and  we'd  a  had  it 
out  together.  But  she  palavered.  She  said  Yes 
when  she  meant  No.  And  she  said  No  when  she 
meant  Yes.  The  bait  she  fished  the  Squire  with  was 
our  Ruth.  She  made  believe  hear  her  say  lessons, 
and  all  that.  But  as  soon  as  she  got  the  Squire  fairly 
caught,  and  had  hauled  him  in,  la !  there  warn't  no 
more  lessons,  you  may  depend.  She  was  a  rum- 
magin'  over  all  the  things,  and  a-turning  of  'em 
upside  down,  and  a-planin'  and  a-calculatin'  till  I 
near  about  burst.  I  should  have  burst  and  been 
blowed  up  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Samuel,  and  he'd  a 
burst  and  blowed  up  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me.  Him 
and  me  we  used  to  sit  and  whisper  in  the  dark,  for 
she  wouldn't  let  us  have  a  candle  if  it  was  to  save  us. 
Sam,  he  kept  his  eye  on  her ;  and  me,  I  kept  my  eye 
on   her.     And  one  day  her  cousin.   Mis'   Snell,  she 


64  PEMAQUID. 

come  over  to  spend  the  day  to  our  house,  and  they 
had  a  regular  row  together.  Sam,  he  heard  all  they 
said,  for  they  thought  he  was  asleep ;  and  he  heard 
Mis'  Snell  say  she'd  tell  something  she  knew  ag'inst 
Mis'  Woodford  if  she"  didn't  pay  her  for  her  board 
that  summer.  Well,  I  was  riled  and  tempted  enough 
afore,  but  after  I'd  heard  that,  Satan  he  got  such  a 
grip  of  me  that  I  couldn't  behave  decent.  I  couldn't 
no  more  say  my  prayers  than  them  'ere  tongs  could. 
Every  time  I  got  down  on  my  knees  I'd  get  to 
thinking  about  Mis'  Pickett  that  was,  till  I  was  right 
down  mad ;  and  every  time  I  spoke  to  her  I  near 
about  took  her  head  off.  If  she'd  a  fit  it  out,  as  I  was 
a-saying,  we  might  a  come  to  an  understanding. 
But,  la !  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  her  mouth,  she  was 
so  soft-spoken.  And  so  I  thought  it  was  about  time 
for  me  to  quit. 

"  Wouldn't  it  have  been  better  to  stay  for  the  sake 
of  the  Squire  and  them  children  ?  No,  it  wouldn't  a 
been  better  to  stay  and  set  'em  such  an  example  as  I 
was  a-setting. 

'■'  Have  I  shown  a  Christian  spirit  to  Mis'  Pickett 
that  was? 

"  No,  I  haven't  shown  a  Christian  spirit  to  Mis' 
Pickett  that  was.  I  was  clear  beat  out  with  the 
temptations.  And  it's  my  opinion  that  when  things 
git  to  such  a  pass  that  you  can't  act  decent,  you'd 
better  cut  and  run. 

"  I  shall  find  temptations  here  at  home  ?     It's  no 


KEZIA  GOES  HOME  EOR  GOOD.  65 

such  a  thing.  Don't  you  never  set  up  your  back  and 
I  won't  never  set  up  mine.  Don't  you  go  to  calling 
me  Keziey,  my  good  girl,  and  I  won't  go  to  calling 
you  no  names  neither.  When  I'm  took  with  one  of 
my  ugly  fits,  you  jist  go  ahead  and  let  me  alone. 
And  if  you  see  me  a-fasting  and  a-praying,  don't  you 
take  no  notice  of  that  neither.  I'm  bound  to  git 
right  somehow,  and  to  live  consistent,  and  I'll  work 
my  passage  to  it,  you  see  if  I  don't.  And  if  you've 
a  mind  to  pray  for  your  poor  old  Keziey,  you  may 
pray,  mother,  for  you're  a  master-hand  at  praying, 
and  maybe  you'll  prevail.  And,  mother,  you're  not 
to  put  your  hand  to  the  house-work  no  more.  You're 
to  sit  in  the  chimbley  corner  a-knitting  and  a-reading 
the  Bible  and  the  hymn-book,  and  I'm  to  do  the 
knocking  round.  There !  you  needn't  go  to  wiping 
your  eyes,  and  calling  me  a  good  girl.  I  aint  a  good 
girl,  and  I  won't  have  no  palaver  talked  where  I  am. 
La!  you  can  jist  sit  and  take  your  ease  all  the  rest 
of  your  days.  You  can  have  the  numb  palsy,  or  the 
paralytics,  or  any  of  them  things  that  makes  you 
helpless,  and  I'll  nuss  you  like  a  baby. 

"  YcJu  don't  want  to  have  the  numb  palsy?  Well, 
have  the  shaking  palsy  then ;  it's  all  one  to  me. 
Only  give  me  a  plenty  to  do,  that's  all. 

''  You  never  saw  anybody  like  me  ? 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  did.  /never  did 
neither.  'Taint  your  faith,  mother.  You  tried  hard 
e;nough  to  git  me  into  shape  when  I  was  a  young 


66  PEMAQUID. 

one,  and  you  couldn't.     But,  la !  don't  you  suppose 
the  Lord  can  do  what  you  can't  ?  " 
Goes  off  singing: 

Now  like  a  sheep  that's  lost  its  way, 
I've  wandered  from  the  fold  astray. 
Temptation  it  was  hard  to  bear, 
And  Satan  caught  me  unaware. 
My  pride,  it's  had  a  dreadful  fall ; 
But  then  the  Squire  had  no  call 
To  bring  that  artful  creetur  home  ; 
For  her  and  me  there  wasn't  room. 


VI. 


"  He  shall  give  His  angels  charge  over  thee  to  keep  thee  in  all  thy 

ways." 
"  Return,  ye  backsliding   children,  and  I  will  heal  your  backslid- 

ings." 

ruth's  journal. 

I  HAVE  met  with  another  providence,  and  must 
write  it  down.  One  Saturday  Rachel  said  she 
felt  snow  in  the  air,  and  that  she  should  draw  four  or 
five  pails  of  water  before  the  storm  came  on.  The 
storm  came  very  soon,  and  it  snowed  all  day  and  all 
night.  In  the  morning  Rachel  complained  of  her 
throat,  and  said  she  felt  chills  running  all  over  her, 
and  was  afraid  she  was  going  to  have  the  throat  dis- 
temper. She  made  herself  some  herb  tea,,and  sat  by 
the  fire,  with  a  shawl  on.  Grandma  said  I  had  better 
go  to  Deacon  Titcomb's  and  ask  to  ride  to  meeting 
with  him  and  his  folks  in  his  double  sleigh.  Rachel 
said  it  was  very  cold,  and  she  made  me  wear  her  hood 
over  my  hood,  and  her  moccasins  over  my  moccasins, 
and  I  kissed  grandma  good-bye,  and  set  out.  I  start- 
ed early,  so  as  to  be  sure  to  get  to  the  deacon's  in 
good  season.  But  I  started  too  early.  Nobody 
had  got  out  yet,  and  no  paths  or  roads  had  been  cut, 


68  PEMAQUID. 

and  all  I  could  see  was  one  great,  white  sheet  of 
snow.  I  turned  my  face  toward  the  deacon's,  and 
fought  my  way  on  a  few  steps,  and  then  I  came  to  a 
fence  that  was  hidden  by  the  snow,  so  I  knew  I 
wasn't  in  the  road.  I  thought  I  would  turn  round 
and  go  home  in  my  own  track,  but  just  then  the  wind 
caught  Rachel's  hood  off  my  head  and  carried  it  the 
other  way;  and  just  as  I  would  struggle  up  to  it, 
away  it  would  go  again.  I  went  on  pushing  and 
fighting  till  I  was  out  of  breath,  but  I  could  not  see  a 
sign  of  anything  that  would  tell  me  which  way  to  go. 
The  snow  was  above  my  head  in  some  places,  where  it 
had  drifted,  and  when  Fgot  into  such  a  spot  I  had  to 
scramble  out  of  it  as  fast  as  I  could.  I  began  to  feel 
very  tired  and  cold,  and  to  wish  the  bells  would  ring 
for  meeting,  or  that  somebody  would  come  and  help 
me.  Then  I  got  bewildered,  and  went  this  way  and 
that.  Then  I  was  frightened,  and  began  to  cry  out 
for  help.  But  no  help  came,  and  I  was  so  tired  that 
the  last  time  I  fell  down  I  did  not  try  to  get  up,  but 
lay  like  a  stone,  all  beat  out.  Then  I  grew  sleepy, 
and  got  a  notion  I  was  in  bed  at  home ;  so  I  tried  to 
say  my  prayers,  but  the  words  wouldn't  come.  Then 
I  said,  *'0  God,  let  me  just  get  a  little  warm  first, 
and  a  little  rested,  and  then  wake  me  up  to  say  my 
prayers." 

At  noon,  when  I  did  not  come  home,  grandma  was 
not  worried.  She  thought  as  Rachel  could  not  go  to 
meeting  I  had  concluded  to  stay  with  the  Titcombs. 


Just  as  I  was  settling  down  to  sleep  she  caught  me  in  her  arms  and  held 
me  to  her  breast."  Page  6y. 


R  UTirS  JO  URNAL.  69 

But  when  it  came  time  for  afternoon  meeting  to  be 
done,  and  still  I  did  not  come,  she  became  so  distress- 
ed that  the  only  way  she  could  lie  still  was  by  crying 
out  to  God  with  all  her  might.  Rachel  was  so  sick 
that  she  had  gone  to  bed,  and  it  would  be  as  much 
as  her  life  was  worth  to  go  out  in  such  a  storm,  and 
our  nearest  neighbor  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 
What  could  poor  grandma  do  ?  She  had  lain  help- 
less in  bed  fourteen  years.  She  was  in  such  anguish 
that  her  strength  came  to  her  as  if  she  had  been 
young.  She  .  got  out  of  bed,  she  found  Rachel's 
clothes  and  put  them  on,  she  stole  out  of  the  house, 
and  out  into  the  storm  ;  but  she  did  not  look  down 
to  find  me  :  she  looked  upward,  to  where  there  was  an 
Eye  that  saw  all  things,  and  she  cried  out,  "  Guide 
me  to  my  son's  ewe  lamb  !  O  my  God,  guide  me ! 
My  only  hope  is  in  Thee !  " 

She  never  knew  how  far  she  went,  but  she  went  on 
till  ker  foot  touched  me,  just  as  I  was  settling  down 
to  sleep,  and  she  caught  me  in  her  arms,  and  held  me 
to  her  breast,  and  praised  God.  Just  then  the  deacon 
and  his  wife  came  in  sight.  They  had  been  to  see 
their  married  daughter,  and  were  going  home.  They 
did  not  pester  us  with  questions,  but  they  lifted  us 
into  the  sleigh,  and  wrapped  us  up,  and  took  us 
home.  The  deacon  felt  round  till  he  found  the  steel 
and  tinder,  and  so  got  a  match  lighted  and  a  candle, 
and  they  made  up  the  fire  that  had  gone  out,  and 
put  on  the  tea-kettle,  and  made  us  tea  ;  and  by  that 


70  P EM  A  QUID. 

time  grandma  was  all  beat  out  and  as  helpless  as 
ever,  and  Mrs.  Titcomb  undressed  her  and  put  her  to 
bed,  and  then  undressed  me,  and  put  me  to  bed  too, 
alongside  her.  Rachel  never  knew  anything  about 
it  till  the  next  day,  and  then  she  wouldn't  believe  it, 
and  said  we  had  been  dreaming.  And  when  the 
deacon  said  it  was  not  a  dream,  she  said  the  Lord 
had  more  sense  than  to  send  poor  old  grandma  out 
into  the  snow,  for  He  could  have  carried  me  home 
Himself  if  there  was  no  other  way  to  save  me.  But 
grandma  says  He  works  by  means,  and  that  He 
wrought  a  miracle  for  her,  and  gave  her  strength  for 
the  time,  according  to  her  faith. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  exercise  faith  all  the  time, 
and  get  well  ?  "  says  Rachel. 

Then  grandma  said  she  could  exercise  faith  for  her 
son's  sake  that  she  could  not  exercise  for  herself. 
Still  she  seemed  puzzled,  and  lay  thinking  all  day. 

Word  came  in  that  the  Widow  Doane's  sheep  were 
all  out  in  the  storm,  and  had  been  sheltered  by  the 
snow,  and  not  one  had  died. 

"  It  was  the  same  snow  that  sheltered  my  son's 
ewe  lamb,"  said  grandma. 

They  say  the  snow  is  now  five  feet  deep. 

People  talk  a  great  deal  about  grandma's  exploit, 
but  she  says  it  was  a  miracle  of  God's  grace,  and  that 
if  anybody  else  could  have  found  me.  He  would  not 
have  sent  her. 


RUTH'S  JOURNAL.  71 

"But  why  could  no  one  else  find  her,  grandma?" 
says  Rachel. - 

"  Because  no  one  else  loves  her  so,"  says  grandma. 
*'  Cords  of  love  drew  me  to  her.  I  went  straight  to 
where  she  was." 

"  Then  if  cords  of  love  drew  you,  there  was  no 
need  of  God,"  says  Rachel. 

Then  grandma  was  puzzled  again,  and  said  she 
never  did  know  how  to  argufy. 

But  she  told  me  to  bring  a  piece  of  paper  and  a 
pen,  and  to  write  these  words,  to  be  read  next  Sun- 
day at  meeting,  just  before  the  long  prayer  : 

*'  The  widow  Woodford  desires  to  return  thanks  to 
Almighty  God  for  the  great  deliverance  He  hath 
wrought  for  her  grandchild." 

And  she  said  a  spared  life  ought  to  be  consecrated 
to  God. 

I  think  so  too. 

I  feel  very  solemn  when  I  think  how  near  I  came 
to  being  frozen  to  death.  Where  would  my  soul 
have  gone  if  I  had  ? 

Oh,  I  have  been  so  wicked,  right  after  my  great 
deliverance !  I  carried  grandma's  note  to  meeting 
and  our  minister  read  it  to  the  people,  and  then  he 
prayed  an  hour.  Just  before  he  got  through  I  heard 
a  little  noise  in  the  next  pew,  and  opened  my  eyes — 
that  is,  I  partly  opened  them — and  there  was  Jesse 
Titcomb  slyly  lifting  up  his  father's  seat  behind  him ; 


72  PEMAQUID, 

and  when  he  went  to  sit  down  he  went  way  down  to 
the  floor.  Then  I  laughed.  Yes,  I  laughed  at  meet- 
ing!  I  laughed  in  the  house  of  God!  And  then  I 
cried.  Oh,  what  a  sinful  child  I  had  been !  And 
crying  could  not  wash  sin  away. 

After  meeting  people  wanted  to  make  much  of  me 
because  of  my  great  deliverance,  but  I  broke  away 
and  ran  home  and  frightened  poor  grandma  almost 
out  of  her  wits  by  telling  her  I  was  afraid  I  had  com- 
mitted the  unpardonable  sin. 

But  she  said  I  was  not  given  to  levity,  and  that 
she  was  sure  I  did  not  laugh  on  purpose,  and,  at  any 
rate,  God  would  forgive  me  and  be  my  deliverer  from 
temptation,  as  He  had  delivered  me  from  death. 
And  she  said  people  ought  to  be  more  taken  up  with 
writing  sweet,  loving  things  about  God  than  with 
writing  bitter  things  against  their  selves. 

I  am  spent  with  crying. 

MRS.   WOODFORD   ONCE   MORE. 

There  has  been  a  terrible  distemper  raging  in  this 
region,  and  it  has  swept  away  the  young  children 
like  a  tempest.  Mr.  Strong  came  to-day  to  inform 
me  that  Deborah  Snell  was  near  her  end  and  was 
eager  to  see  me. 

I  asked  if  she  had  the  distemper,  for  if  she  had,  of 
course  I  should  not  dare  to  go.  He  said  there  was 
nothing  infectious  in  the  case,  and  that  it  was  my 
duty  to  gratify  my  relative's  last  wishes. 


MliS.    WOODFORD  ONCE  MORE.  73 

I  dread  the  thought  of  death,  much  more  the  sight 
of  it.  Still  it  would  not  be  pleasant,  to  let  it  put  a 
seal  to  the  enmity  between  us,  and  we  might  part 
friends. 

I  concluded  to  go. 

I  found  Deborah  eagerly  awaiting  me.  She  had 
sent  several  messengers  in  pursuit  of  me. 

"Let  every  one  go  out  of  the  room  but  us  two," 
she  said,  as  soon  as  I  entered.  We  were  left  alone 
together. 

I -went  up  to  her  and  said  how  sorry  I  was  to  see 
her  in  this  condition. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  she  returned  sharply. 
"  I  rather  think  you've  wished  more'n  once  that  I 
was  out  of  the  way.  You've  reckoned  it  would  be 
one  the  less  to  tell  your  secrets.  Well,  I'm  going! 
Secrets  and  all,  I'm  going  !  And  I'll  tell  you  what 
it  is.  Cousin  Woodford,  death  may  do  to  joke  about 
when  you're  up  and  about,  but  when  you  come  to 
face  it,  it's  an  awful,  awful  thing.  All  your  sins  come 
and  stand  round  your  bed  so  thick  you  can't  see 
nothing  else,  hardly.  You  remember  the  things  you 
did  when  you  was  a  little  girl,  and  them  you  did 
when  you  was  a-growing  up,  and,  worst  of  all,  the 
things  you  did  when  you  was  grown  up  and  knew 
better. 

*'  You  turn  this  way  and  you  turn  that  way,  and 
you  make  this  excuse  and  you  make  that  excuse,  but 
it  aint  no  use.      Then  you  give  up  and  expect  noth- 


74  PEMAQUID. 

ing  but  to  be  lost  forever  and  ever.  And  just  as  you 
get  there,  and  your  heart's  broken  all  to  pieces  with 
its  shame  and  its  sorrow,  why,  then  you  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  Lord  Jesus,  such  as  you  aint  had  for  many  a 
long  year,  having  been  a  miserable  backslider  and 
cold  and  dead  as  a  stone.  Well,  that  glimpse  grieves 
you  so  that  there  aint  left  nothing  of  you.  You 
just  give  up  and  there's  the  end  of  it." 

"  But,  Deborah,"  I  said,  "  you  are  a  member  of  the 
Church  and  you've  not  done  any  such  dreadful  things. 
You  are  low-spirited  and  can't  see  yourself  as  you 
really  are." 

*'  Don't  tell  me,"  she  said.  *'  I  never  saw  things  so 
clear  as  I  do  now  in  my  life.  The  time  has  been 
I  set  myself  above  you  and  thought  your  company 
wasn't  fit  for  me.  But  now  I  see  that  in  the  sight  of 
God  I'm  a  bigger  sinner  than  you  are.  I've  had  light, 
and  you  haven't.  I  was  brought  up  under  the  drop- 
pings of  the  sanctuary,  and  you  wasn't.  I've  stood 
up  before  angels  and  men,  and  promised  to  love  and 
serve  God  with  all  my  heart,  and  I  aint  kept  my 
word.  And  now  I'm  going  to  die.  And  if  it  wasn't 
for  that  glimpse  of  Christ,  Oh,  how  dark,  how  dark  the 
grave  would  look !  But  I  keep  a-getting  them  glimpses, 
and  I  don't  know ;  maybe  there'll  be  some  little  cor- 
ner in  heaven,  away  off  from  those  that  walked 
worthy,  some  out-of-the-way  place  I  can  creep  into  and 
just  staythere,  a-getting  glimpses  through  all  eternity." 

Her  earnestness   and   her  solemnity,  and   the   pale 


MRS,    WOODFORD  ONCE  MORE.  75 

shadow  of  death  on  her  brow,  moved  me  to  my  very 
foundations. 

"  Oh,  Deborah,  If  death  looks  so  awful  to  you,  how 
must  it  look  to  me?  " 

"  Then  don't  look  at  it,"  she  said  feebly,  the  tem- 
porary excitement  that  had  sustained  her  beginning 
now  to  give  away.  "  Just  look  at  the  Lord  Jesus. 
And,  Cousin  Woodford,  it's  my  last  word  before  I  go  : 
don't  put  it  off  to  such  a  time  as  this.  It's  no  time 
at  all.     Lifes  the  time — " 

She  sank  back  upon  her  pillow ;  her  eyes  became 
fixed  ;  I  had  only  time  to  call  her  husband  before  she 
was  gone. 

One  moment  here,  delivering  to  me  her  parting 
message;  the  next  moment — where? 

I  went  home,  and  as  I  went  I  wondered  how  the 
sun  could  shine  and  the  busy  works  of  nature  and  of 
man  go  on  in  a  world  subject  to  such  terrific  myste- 
ries as  this ! 

Mr.  Woodford  met  me  with  unusual  gentleness, 
and  after  dinner  begged  me  to  go  to  my  room  and  lie 
down.  But  I  could  not  sleep.  My  guilty  life  went 
surging  through  my  brain,  back  and  forth,  back  and 
forth,  with  relentless  progress.  The  exceeding  sin- 
fulness of  sin  was  beginning  to  become  manifest  to 
me.     I  abhorred,  I  shrank  from  myself. 

It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  had  leisure  to  write. 
After  endless  labors,  and  a  severe  conflict  with  in- 


76  FEMAQUID. 

numerable  difficulties,  I  have  pushed  the  matter  of 
the  factory  through,  and  it  is  in  successful  operation, 
and  money  flows  in  apace.  Juliet  has  been  away  at 
a  boarding-school  more  than  a  year.  I  have  been  to 
see  her  once,  and  found  her  in  disgrace  of  all  sorts. 
I  will  not  allow  her  to  come  home  until  she  shows 
some  signs  of  amendment.  But  I  believe  girls  at  her 
age  are  always  unruly  and  restive. 

Ruth  writes  home  regularly  once  a  month.  She 
seems  quite  happy  in  the  aged  life  she  is  leading. 
Her  father  goes  often  to  see  her,  and  she  comes  home 
now  and  then.  Her  grandmother  says  her  character 
is  lovely.  When  I  look  forward  to  declining  years, 
or  old  age,  I  always  rejoice  that  I  shall  have  this  un- 
selfish, good-natured  little  puss  to  wait  upon  me.  I 
can  not  conceive  of  care  of  any  sort  from  Juliet. 

Ruth  "joined  the  Church"  last  Sunday,  to  Mr. 
Woodford's  great  delight.  I  can  not  understand  the 
pleasure  this  gives  him.  But  to  these  Puritans  that 
step  seems  to  be  what  getting  married  is  in  a  novel. 
The  curtain  falls  on  this  act  as  if  it  were  toward  that 
point,  and  for  it,  the  whole  scene  had  tended.  The 
fact  is,  however,  life  really  begins  with  a  happy  mar- 
riage, if  there  is  such  a  thing  on  earth.  And  if  I 
were  going  to  join  the  Church,  I  should  feel  that  it 
was  one  of  the  first  of  my  real  steps  on  earth — the 
beginning  of  a  march,  not  the  end  of  a  journey.  And 
I  would  not  settle  down  at  my  ease,  as  most  people 
seem  to  do,  at  that  point.     I  would  be  something,  or 


MliS.    WOODFORD  ONCE  MORE.  77 


nothing.     I  would  be  a  saint — not  an  uncomfortable 
sinner.  : 


It  is  two  years  since  I  sent  Juliet  away.  She  is 
now  seventeen.  A  handsomer  young  woman  is  rare- 
ly to  be  seen.  She  has  left  off  some  of  her  most  dis- 
agreeable ways,  and  is,  at  times,  really  attractive. 
Her  teacher  says  the  trouble  now  is  to  keep  off  a 
crowd  of  boys,  calling  themselves  young  men,  who 
are  constantly  prowling  around  her.  But  such  things 
can  not  be  avoided — and  the  child  must  have  her  lit- 
tle pleasures. 

My  cares  and  trials  multiply,  and  I  have  no  refuge. 
Mr.  Woodford's  children  have  turned  out  so  well  that 
he  could  not  sympathize  with  me  now,  if  he  would. 

About  two  weeks  ago  I  received  a  letter  from 
Juliet's  teacher,  enclosing  a  little  bill  for  confection- 
ery and  the  like,  that  this  child  has  actually  ventured 
to  run  up  in  my  name.  The  amount  is  so  large  that 
I  am  sure  she  has  played  Lady  Bountiful  to  the 
whole  school.  I  hurried  to  the  spot,  reproved  the 
confectioner,  upbraided  Juliet,  and  made  myself  fairly 
ill  with  vexation  and  shame.  Juliet  laughed  at  my 
distress,  and  declared  it  was  all  my  fault ;  there  was 
nothing  fit  to  eat  at  the  table ;  she  had  no  money  to 
get  what  she  needed  ;  all  the  other  girls  had  boxes 
of  ''  goodies "  sent  them  from  home,  etc.,  etc.  I 
spoke  to  Miss  Temple  about  the  table.     She  said  I 


78  PEAIAQUID. 

could  judge  for  myself  whether  it  was  comfortable 
or  not,  and  begged  me  to  drop  in  at  any  meal  I 
chose. 

The  result  was  another  scene  with  Juliet,  who  still 
maintained  that  things  were  not  as  good  as  they  were 
at  home.  The  end  of  it  was  her  removal  to  another 
school,  where  she  is  to  be  under  strict  government 
and  have  even  plainer  food  than  before.  What  am  I 
to  do  with  the  child  ?  She  has  no  law  before  her 
eyes  ;  her  one  study  is  to  please  herself  I  can  not 
see  that  she  has  a  particle  of  respect  or  affection  for 
me.  In  my  despair  I  went  to  see  Mr.  Strong.  Every- 
body else  goes  to  him  for  comfort,  why  should  not  I  ? 

He  received  me  with  great  kindness  and  courtesy, 
and  expressed  real  sympathy  for  my  sufferings. 

''Juliet  is  still  quite  young,"  he  said.  ''  We  must 
hope  for  the  best.  God's  grace  can  do  the  work  man 
throws  down  in  despair.  Is  she  under  good  moral  in- 
fluences at  school?" 

I  said  I  supposed  she  was,  of  course. 

"Unless  you  are  sure  on  that  point,"  he  said, 
"  would  it  not  be  better  to  take  her  home,  watch  her 
with  such  care  as  only  a  mother  can  give,  instruct  her 
in  her  duty  to  yourself  and  to  God,  and,  above  all, 
constantly  implore  His  blessing  on  her  behalf?" 

''  But  I  can  do  nothing  with  her,"  I  returned.  "  She 
is  the  most  headstrong  creature  I  ever  saw.  Indeed, 
I  never  had  any  control  over  her.  I  supposed  that 
as  she  grew  older  she  would  become  more  reasonable. 


MRS.   WOODFORD  ONCE  MORE.  79 

But  on  the  contrary  she  grows  more  and  more  self- 
willed." 

Mr.  Strong  was  silent  for  a  time.  , 

"  Such  characters  often  turn  out  useful  ones,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  If  God  takes  them  in  hand  and  beats 
them  into  shape,  lack  of  early  discipline  is  sometimes 
more  than  atoned  for." 

*'  That  depends  on  when  He  begins  His  work,"  I 
said,  desperately.  '^  Discipline  embitters  and  sours 
those  whom  it  attacks  too  late." 

"  There  is  no  too  late  with  God,"  he  returned.  "  He 
can  begin  and  finish  His  work  at  the  eleventh  hour. 
And  discipline  that  He  sends  and  sanctifies  does  not 
embitter.  It  softens  and  moulds  and  sweetens  and 
ennobles." 

"  Ah,  it  is  easy  to  theorize  about  such  things,"  I 
said.  "  You  have  never  knov/n,  and  never  needed  to 
know,  such  shame  and  sorrow  as  I  writhe  under.  Your 
life  has  been  all  sunshine." 

He  smiled,  a  little  sadly. 

"That  is  not  true  of  any  life,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
had  not  a  little  real  happiness,  but  I  was  not  fit  to 
enjoy  it  till  I  had  passed  under  the  rod.  Because  you 
can  not  see  the  friction  on  the  wheels  of  a  man's  life, 
it  is  not  safe  to  conclude  there  is  no  friction.  Eve**'* 
heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness." 

''  And  we  go  about  the  world  regular  Spartans,  our 
sorrows  gnawing  into  us,  and  our  faces  covered  with 
smiles! " 


80  P  EM  A  QUID. 

"  Nay,  some  of  us  go  about  regular  Christians  !  " 
he  returned.  ''We  know  our  pains  and  our  disap- 
pointments, but  we  take  them,  with  loving  hands, 
straight  from  Hands  yet  more  loving,  and  they  bring 
forth  in  due  season  most  peaceable  fruits." 

He  said  no  more.  If  he  had  done  so  I  was  in  the 
mood  to  strike  him. 


VII. 

"The  way  of  the  wicked  He  turneth  upside  down." 
MRS.   STRONG  OX   THE  SITUATION. 

YES,  we  dined  at  the  Squire's  on  Thanksgiving 
Day.  It  was  the  first  invitation  for  four  years. 
Things  are  entirely  changed  there.  Samuel  was  not 
at  home,  nor  Ruth,  which  is  strange ;  but  the  stran- 
gest thing  of  all  is  a  Thanksgiving  dinner  without 
Kezia  to  cook  it,  and  hardly  a  thing  on  the  table  fit 
to  eat.  The  Squire  had  no  appetite,  and,  as  baby 
cried,  he  made  that  an  excuse  for  leaving  the  table 
and  walking  up  and  down  with  it.  I  never  saw  a  man 
so  fond  of  little  children. 

Mrs.  Woodford  fidgeted  in  her  chair  as  if,  somehov7» 
baby  was  defrauding  her  of  something  she  wanted, 
or  oueht  to  have.  She  couldn't  have  been  more 
than  thirty  when  she  married  the  Squire,  and  now 
she  looks  every  minute  of  fifty.  After  dinner  they 
asked  me  if  I  knew  of  a  private  family  that  would 
take  a  pious  young  man  to  board.  I  looked  at  my 
husband,  and  he  looked  at  me.  At  last  I  said  I 
would  take  him  as  an  experiment,  as  he  was  a  pious 

youth.     The  Squire  replied  that  he  was  the  son  of  a 
4*  (81) 


82  F EM  A  QUID. 

widow  of  no  means,  had  struggled  his  way  through 
college,  and  now  wanted  to  earn  enough  to  carry 
him  through  a  course  in  theology. 

*'  I  have  need  of  a  book-keeper  in  Samuel's  place," 
he  added,  ''  and  have  promised  him  the  situation." 

So  Samuel  is  gone  for  good,  it  seems.  I  wonder 
why?  However,  it  is  not  for  me  to  pry  into  family 
secrets.  If  he  had  gone  for  any  pleasant  reason  the 
Squire  would  have  come  and  told  us,  as  he  always 
does,  poor  man,  if  there  is  anything  agreeable  to  tell. 
Well,  to  go  back  to  the  book-keeper ;  the  idea  of  a 
^ligious  young  man  in  the  house  was  rather  pleasant 
than  othenvise.  The  Squire  then  inquired  if  there 
were  any  specially  needy  cases  in  the  parish,  and 
gave  my  husband  money  to  spend  among  them. 
That  seemed  exactly  like  old  times.  There  must  be 
a  change  in  Mrs.  Woodford.  She  certainly  seems 
softened.  After  we  reached  home  Mr.  Strong  said 
to  me : 

'*  You  generally  see  things  sooner  than  I  do,  but 
to-day  I  have  the  advantage  of  you.  The  Squire 
has  heard  of  a  deserving,  but  needy,  young  man,  and 
it  is  just  like  him  to  come  to  his  rescue.  He  knows 
how  hard  we  find  it  to  live  on  my  small  salary,  and 
gives  us  the  first  chance  to  eke  it  out  through  this 
boarder." 

So  it  is ;  exactly  like  him ;  I  wonder  I  did  not  see 
that  before.  What  a  mercy  it  is  going  to  be  to  earn 
a  little  money.     Mr.  Strong  needs  books,  and  I  need 


MRS.    WOODFORD.  83 

everything,  with  those  children  to  clothe.  How  a 
kind  Providence  watches  over  us !  Thanks  to  the 
Squire,  and  other  friends,  we  are  amply  supplied  with 
groceries,  such  as  flour,  apples,  cheese,  spices,  raisins, 
wine,  and  brandy.  The  latter  I  keep  in  case  of  sick- 
ness ;  the  wine  I  give  to  Mr.  Strong  when  he  comes 
home  unusually  fatigued.  Thanksgiving  is  a  glad 
season  for  a  poor  New  England  minister. 

MRS.   WOODFORD. 

I  have  a  plan  in  regard  to  Juliet  which,  if  carried 
out,  will  relieve  me  from  the  annoyance  I  feel  about 
the  money  I  have  laid  aside  for  her.  Samuel  is  now 
a  fine-looking  young  man,  well  informed  for  a  Pema- 
quid  youth,  for  he  is  a  great  reader ;  he  has  a  good 
salary,  and  can  afford  to  marry,  and  would  make  Juliet 
a  faithful  husband.  He  never  goes  round  with  girls,  as 
other  young  men  do,  so  I  am  sure  his  heart  is  un- 
touched. It  is  true  they  have  always  hated  each 
other,  but  separation  may  have  done  away  with  that 
sort  of  thing.  Once  married  to  Juliet,  the  money 
would  come  back  to  him,  and  I  should  only  antedate 
the  day  w^hen  he  should  become  his  father's  heir.  I 
can  hardly  believe  that  this  handsome  young  man  is 
the  dull,  awkward  boy  I  found  him.  He  has  the  po- 
sition of  book-keeper  in  his  father's  office.  Mr. 
Woodford  has  displayed  more  business  talent  than  I 
could  have  believed  he  possessed.  He  is  very  gener- 
ous to  me  in  regard  to  money;  but  this  gives  me 


84:  PEMAQUID. 

little  satisfaction.  I  have  a  weariness  and  a  disgust 
of  life  that  is  well-nigh  insupportable. 

A  month  ago,  early  one  morning,  Mr.  Woodford 
brought  in  and  placed  on  the  fire  a  heavy  stick  of 
wood.  As  he  rose  from  his  stooping  posture,  after 
arranging  it,  a  sudden  pallor  overspread  his  face,  and 
he  put  both  hands  to  his  chest.  I  led  him  to  a  chair, 
and  supported  his  head  on  my  breast,  while  I  called 
loudly  for  help.  Samuel  opened  the  windows,  think- 
ing this  to  be  a  fainting  fit ;  to  me  it  looked  like 
death  itself.  As  I  stood  there,  holding  that  noble 
head,  I  knew  what  I  had  suspected  before — /  loved 
that  man  I 

*'  Are  you  going  to  let  him  die  for  the  want  of  a 
doctor?"  I  said  hoarsely  to  Samuel,  who  stood  star- 
ing helplessly  at  us  both.  "  Saddle  one  of  the 
horses,  some  of  you,  and  tell  the  doctor  to  ride  for 
his  life ! " 

They  all  flew  in  different  directions,  and  I  stood 
holding  the  head  whose  weight  seemed  every  second 
to  grow  heavier  and  heavier.  Once  I  proposed  to  lay 
him  on  the  floor — for  there  was  no  couch  in  the  room 
— but  he  resisted  my  efforts. 

''  I  could  not  breathe  lying  down,"  he  said. 

Before  the  doctor  arrived  the  spasm  of  pain  had 
subsided,  but  his  color  had  not  returned.  After  a 
few  questions,  the  doctor  declared,  sepulchrally : 

"  Disease  of  the  heart !  "  and  after  a  few  unmean- 
ing remarks,  took  leave. 


MRS.    WOODFORD.  85 

Mr.  Woodford  sat  in  his  chair,  silent  and  thought- 
ful.    His  face  looked  like  the  face  of  an  angel. 

"  I  thought  myself  almost  there  I  "  he  said,  looking 
upward,  with  a  smile. 

Seeing  him  at  last  entirely  relieved,  I  left  him  with 
Samuel,  and  went  to  my  bedroom.  Then  I  faced 
the  awful  truth — I  loved  that  man,  and  he  was  my 
husband,  but  he  never  had  loved  me. 

This  is  the  first  line  I  have  written  since  that  day. 
Mr.  Woodford  has  had  no  recurrence  of  the  attack. 
The  doctor  may  possibly  have  mistaken  its  nature.  I 
can  see,  however,  that  Mr.  Woodford  has  set  his  house 
in  order  and  girded  himself  to  depart  at  a  moment's 
notice.  He  has  made  Samuel  familiar  with  all  the 
business  details  of  the  factory,  and  given  him  full 
authority  to  act  in  his  place.  Samuel  is  nov/  as' tall 
as  his  father,  and  very  like  him  in  person.  A  finer- 
looking  young  man  is  not  often  seen.  His  manner  to 
me  has  improved  not  a  little.  He  treats  me  with 
perfect  civility,  and  never  crosses  my  path  in  any  way. 

To-day  is  Sunday.  Mr.  Strong  preached  this  after- 
noon on  the  text,  "  Every  heart  knoweth  its  own 
bitterness."     Surely  no  heart  knows  such  as  mine. 

I  try  in  every  way  to  make  myself  agreeable  to  my 
husband.  All  his  old  habits  I  have  revived.  I  pre- 
pare a  bountiful  table,  and  he  can  invite  all  Pemaquid 
to  it  when  he  chooses.     I  fall  in  with  his  ways  of 


86  PEMAQUID. 

**  sending  portions,"  as  Kezia  used  to  call  it,  and 
fairly  pamper  all  the  Strongs.  By  the  by,  there  are 
four  children  there  now,  and  Mrs.  Strong  as  jocund 
as  ever.  But  nothing  moves  him.  He  is  perfectly 
civil  and  kind,  but  never  more  than  that.  I  would 
prefer  a  little  occasional  discord  to  this  wearisome, 
superficial  harmony. 

I  must  say  the  fates  deal  harshly  with  me.  Why 
should  I  not  have  the  love  of  my  husband,  since  I 
stoop  to  desire  it?  I  am  still  young  and  attractive; 
I  have  never  spoken  to  him  a  harsh  word  ;  I  fall  in 
with  his  whims,  and  submit  to  all  his  wishes.  I  am 
his  superior  in  education  and  intellect,  it  is  true ;  but 
it  is  not  this  that  comes  between  us.  He  respects 
himself — not  unduly,  but  as  a  man  should — and  never 
has  stood  in  awe  of  me.  I  would  defy  any  woman  to 
live  in  the  same  house  with  him  as  long  as  I  have 
done  and  not  feel  the  uprightness  and  beauty  of  his 
life.     But  what  is  love  without  a  return? 

Mr.  Woodford  has  had  another  of  those  alarming 
attacks.  This  time  I  took  no  pains  to  conceal  my 
anxiety  and — yes,  I  will  own  it — my  distress.  He 
seemed  surprised  at  my  tears,  and  expressed  much 
gratitude  for  the  interest  I  had  shown  in  him. 

"  I  suppose  you  know,  my  dear,"  he  said  on  recov- 
ering from  the  spasm,  "that  sooner  or  later  I  shall  go 
off  in  one  of  these  attacks.  I  have  arranged  my  worldly 
affairs  so  that  I  can  leave  them  at  any  moment." 


MRS.   WOODFORD.  87 

I  said  I  wondered  he  could  speak  so  cheerfully  on 
such  a  gloomy  subject. 

He  smiled,  and  declared  it  was  not  a  gloomy  sub- 
ject. 

''  What  is  there  gloomy  in  the  thought  of  getting 
rid  of  a  body  of  sin  and  death,  and  waking  up  in 
heaven?  "  he  asked. 

''  But  death  is  such  a  solemn,  such  an  awful  event," 
I  said. 

^'  Solemn,  but  not  awful,"  he  replied. 

"  It  may  not  be  awful  to  those  who  expect  to  go 
directly  to  heaven,"  I  said.  "  It  must  be  pleasant  to 
think  of  escaping  the  troubles  of  life  and  getting  a 
shelter  from  its  storms." 

"  It  isn't  heaven  to  me  to  escape  troubles,"  he  re- 
turned. ''  It  is  3171  I  long  to  escape.  My  troubles 
have  been  few  and  small.  But  my  sins  !  Oh,  they 
have  been  without  limit !  " 

Was  there  anything  more  absurd  ?  After  a  long 
silence,  he  broke  out  with — 

''  My  dear,  shall  you  come  to  meet  me  there  ?  " 

I  said  I  hoped  so.  God  is  merciful.  He  makes 
allowance  for  human  infirmity. 

'''Yes,  if  we  love  Him  and  have  faith  in  Him.  But 
heaven  will  not  be  heaven  to  us  without  love,  you 
know." 

Yes,  I  know.  But  what  can  *I  do?  There  are 
those  things  in  my  life  that  stand  as  impassable  bar- 
riers between  me  and  such  experiences  as  his.     Yet 


88  PEMAQUID. 

when  I  see  his  face  actually  transfigured  with  joy,  I 
can  not  help  envying  him  his  more  favored  lot.  Al- 
lowing it  to  be  all  a  delusion,  it  is  a  safe  delusion. 
Allowing  mine  to  be  a  delusion,  where  will  it  end  ? 

I  plunged  from  one  horror  into  another.  Since 
writing  the  above  I  have  had  the  most  terrible  scene 
with  Samuel.  A  few  days  ago  as  I  was  at  the  post- 
office,  Deacon  Stone,  who  keeps  it,  handed  me  a 
letter  addressed  to  the  youngster.  My  curiosity  was 
not  a  little  excited  when  I  observed  that  it  was  a 
feminine  letter. 

"  What  young  lady  corresponds  with  Samuel  ?  "  I 
inquired,  as  carelessly  as  I  could. 

*'  O,  it  won't  do  to  tell  tales,"  said  the  Deacon. 
"  Samuel  is  too  likely  a  young  man  not  to  have  his 
admirers." 

"  It  is  a  regular  correspondent,  is  it  ?  " 

''  O,  I  can't  say.  Their  letters  go  back  and  forth 
as  young  folks'  letters  will." 

I  came  home  with  the  letter  in  my  hands,  and  no 
little  uneasiness  in  my  heart.  If  my  project  of  mar- 
rying Samuel  to  Juliet  should  fail,  what  am  I  to  do  ? 
That  money  oppresses  -me.  I  wish  I  was  fairly  rid  of 
it.  It  stands  between  me  and  peace  of  mind.  I 
know  not  why — it  was  not  always  so — but  of  late  I 
am  tempted  to  curse  the  day  I  began  to  put  my  hand 
to  such  unsatisfactory  work. 

On  reachinor  home  I  examined  the  letter  on  all 


MliS.    WOODFORD.  89 

sides.  It  was  sealed  with  a  large  red  wafer,  pressed 
down  with  a  thimble — a  brass  thimble,  I  have  no 
doubt.  My  evil  genius  suggested  that  there  would 
be  no  harm  in  opening  the  letter  and  just  learning  the 
name  of  the  writer.  Steam  from  the  tea-kettle,  al- 
ready boiling  for  tea,  would  do  that  in  a  trice.  It  was 
easy  to  get  everybody  out  of  the  way,  and  to  soften 
the  wafer,  but  in  opening  the  letter  I  could  not  help 
tearing  it  a  good  deal,  the  wafer  was  so  large  and  so 
firmly  pressed  down  to  the  paper.  But,  at  the  mo- 
ment, I  did  not  heed  that.  I  hurried  to  my  room, 
went  to  the  window,  and  glanced  quickly  at  the  signa- 
ture— "  Ellen  Wyman."  But  the  name  threw  no  light 
on  the  subject ;  it  was  necessary  to  read  the  letter, 
after  all.  I  had  finished  the  first  page,  hurriedly, 
when  I  recollected  that  my  door  was  unfastened ; 
some  one  might  enter  and  detect  me  at  miy  work.  I 
went,  letter  in  hand,  to  repair  this  error,  and  con- 
fronted Samuel,  who  said,  quickly  : 

"  The  Deacon  says  there  was  a  letter  for  me. 
Where  is  it  ?  " 

At  this  moment  his  eyes  fell  upon  it,  opened  in  my 
hand.  He  became  pale  as  death,  and  threw  himself 
upon  me  like  a  tiger.  For  a  single  instant  I  held  it 
aloft  out  of  his  reach,  then  looked  round  in  despair 
for  some  way  of  escape,  and  seeing  none,  let  him 
rend  it  from  my  grasp. 

*'  One  of  us  must  leave  this  house,"  he  said  in  my 
ear.  ''You  or  I.  It  is  too  strait  to  hold  us  both 
after  this." 


90  PEMAQUin. 

He  rushed  away  like  a  madman. 

A  few  minutes  before,  all  was  going  well.  But  what 
terrible  mistakes  can  be  committed  in  a  few  moments  ! 
Mistakes  a  lifetimie  can  not  rectify.  I  went  down- 
stairs and  met  Mr.  Woodford. 

"Why,'  is  anything  the  matter?"  he  cried.  "You 
and  Samuel  lock  as  if  you  had  just  seen  a  ghost !  " 

"  Where  is  Samuel  ?  I  must  see  him.  There  is  a 
terrible  misunderstanding  between  us." 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  believe  he  has  gone  to  his 
room.  What  is  the  trouble  ?  Let  me  mediate  be- 
tween you.  Poor  boy,  his  temper  is  fearful  when 
once  roused." 

I  hardly  waited  to  hear  him  through,  but  hurried 
past  him,  up  the  stairs  that  led  to  Samuel's  room.  I 
knocked,  but  there  was  no  answer.  I  tried  the  door, 
but  it  was  fastened  on  the  inside.  But  I  could  hear 
draws  opened  and  shut,  and  the  sound  of  hasty  move- 
ments. 

"  Samuel,  I  entreat  you  to  hear  me  a  moment." 

He  came  to  the  door,  put  his  lips  to  the  key-hol'e 
and  said : 

^'  Fool  I  "  and  resumed  his  labors. 

"  Samuel,"  I  repeated,  "  remember  that  sudden  ex- 
citement would  be  the  death  of  your  father." 

There  was  immediate  silence.  Then,  opening  the 
door,  he  said,  bitterly : 

"  You  should  have  remembered  that  an  hour  ago." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  I  know !     But  oh,  Samuel,  it  was  a 


MJ^S.    WOODFORD.  91 

sudden  temptation.  I  did  not  mean  to  read  your  let- 
ter. Indeed,  I  have  only  read  a  part  of  it.  But  if  your 
father  learns  it,  if  you  tell  your  father,  it  will  kill 
him." 

"■  I  have  no  intention  of  telling  him.,  Mrs.  Wood- 
ford. I  shall  leave  you  in  undisturbed  possession  of 
the  house  from  which  you  have  driven  both  my  fa- 
ther's children.  God  grant  it  may  not  be  his  turn  to 
go  next." 

He  closed  the  door  in  my  face  and  I  went  down  to 
tea.  Mr.  Woodford  asked  me  no  more  questions, 
and  we  passed  through  the  meal  in  silence.  After  a 
time  Samuel  came  in. 

*'  Father,"  he  said,  ^'  you  will  have  to  look  out  for  a 
book-keeper  to  take  my  place.  I'm  off  before  day- 
light to-morrow." 

Mr.  Woodford  still  asked  no  questions ;  but  he  be- 
came very  pale,  and  passed  his  hand  uneasily  over  his 
chest. 

'*  The  accounts  are  all  fair  and  square,"  continued 
Samuel.  "  You  will  have  no  trouble  with  the  books. 
And  now,  as  I  am  going  away  to  seek  my  fortune,  I 
should  like  your  blessing,  father,  and  leave  to  pay 
myself  up  to  this  time  what  the  concern  owes  me.  It 
is  all  I  shall  ever  want,  and  whatever  else  would  have 
come  to  me  I  make  over  to  Ruth.  And,  father,  I'll 
try  to  make  a  man  of  myself  and  not  to  disgrace 
your  name." 

Mr.  Woodford  still  sat  without  a  word.     At  last  he 


92  PEMAQUID. 

rose  up  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  son's  head,  and 
blessed  him. 

"  God  be  gracious  to  you,  my  son,"  he  said. 

At  these  words,  uttered  in  a  trembling  voice,  Sam- 
uel's assumed  coolness  melted  away,  and  tears  began 
to  run  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Say  the  word,  father,  and  I  won't  go,"  he  said. 

"  No,  my  son.  You  are  old  enough  to  choose  for 
yourself." 

I  stole  away  and  left  them  together.  At  breakfast 
next  morning  Samuel's  seat  was  empty,  and  I  knew 
that  he  was  gone.  So  here  ends  my  scheme  for  Ju- 
liet's future.  I  hope  that  ungrateful  child  will  repay 
me,  sooner  or  later,  for  all  she  has  cost  me.  At 
family  prayers,  after  Samuel  had  gone,  Mr.  Wood- 
ford, who  reads  in  course,  came  to  the  verse : 

"  If  I  am  bereaved  of  my  children  I  am  bereaved," 
and  then  he  broke  down.  He  nerved  himself,  by  a 
great  effort,  and  knelt  and  prayed  like  a  little  child. 
I  wish  /  cculd  break  down.  I  ahiiost  wish  I  could 
pray. 


VIII. 

"  I  dwell  among  mine  own  people." 
"  Life  !  we've  been  long  together, 

Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather; 

'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear — 

Perhaps  'twill  cause  a  sigh,  a  tear  : 

Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning. 

Choose  thine  own  time, 

Say  not  'Good-night,'  but  in  some  brighter  clime 

Bid  me  '  Good-morning.'  " 

ruth's  journal. 

I   AM  eighteen  years  old  to-day,  and  grandma  asked 
me  what  I  should  do  when  she  died.     I  began  to 
cry,  and  said  I  should  die  too. 

She  said,  "  I  want  you  to  stop  crying,  my  child,  and 
listen  to  me.  I  am  very  aged,  and  it  can  not  be  very 
long  before  I  come  to  the  end  of  my  pilgrimage ;  and 
it  will  half  spoil  my  comfort  in  going  if  I  see  you  cow- 
ardly and  rebellious  about  it.  Now,  of  course,  you 
will  feel  my  loss  at  first  a  good  deal,  because  I  have 
been  as  a  mother  to  you.  But  I  want  you  to  glorify 
God  by  bearing  your  pain  bravely  and  patiently,  just 
as  you  would  any  other  sort  of  pain — such  as  sick- 
ness, for  instance.  As  to  dying,  you  will  do  no  such 
thing.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  broken 
hearts,  nowadays  ;  but  do  you  know  of  any  one  in 
Pemaquid  or  Kittery  Point  that  ever  died  of  grief?'* 


94  PEMAQUID. 

I  had  to  own  I  never  had. 

"You  wish  I  would  stop  talking  on  a  subject  so 
painful,"  she  went  on.  "  But  I  want  to  help  strengthen 
you  for  what  77iust  come.  And  when  I  am  called 
home,  don't  take  on  as  if  nobody  ever  had  a  sorrow 
before.  You  will  probably  live  to  have  your  heart 
ache  far  harder  over  living  troubles  than  dead  ones. 
I  see  you  do  not  believe  me ;  how  should  you,  at 
your  age  ?  But  let  me  say  one  thing  more  for  your 
comfort.  Or,  no  ;  bring  your  Bible  and  read  the 
story  of  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abedncgo." 

I  read  it,  and  her  dear  old  face  began  to  shine. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  the  furnace,  child,  after  this. 
You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  there,  with  the  Son 
of  God  to  see  that  the  fire  is  not  too  hot ;  besides, 
you  can  not  get  grace  against  sorrow  before  it  comes, 
any  more  than  you  can  get  dying  grace  till  you  come 
to  die.  But  I  can  tell  you  that  you  will  be  astonish- 
ed at  the  way  in  which  you  will  be  supported  if  you 
put  your  trust  in  God,  who  says,  *  As  one  whom  His 
mother  comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you.'  " 

While  grandma  was  talking  I  began  to  feel  very 
brave,  and  as  if  I  could  stand  anything.     Still  I  said  : 

"  But  the  Widow  Green  lived  to  be  ninety  ! " 

"  And  would  you  have  your  poor  old  grandma  live 
to  be  a  burden  and  trial  to  herself  and  everybody 
about  her  ?  " 

"  She  was  very  large  and  heavy,  and  hard  to  lift ; 


MRS.    WOODFORD   PROCEEDS.  95 

but  you  are  sirieill  and  light,  and  I  can't  imagine  you 
as  being  a  burden." 

"  It's  the  old  story  over  again,''  grandma  said. 
"  Young  people  must  earn  their  own  experience  ;  and 
it  is  such  a  pity  !  " 

But  since  I  came  to  my  room  and  wrote  down 
what  she  said,  it  has  come  to  me  that  I  dread  her 
dying,  not  just  because  I  should  miss  her  love, 
but  because  she  helps  me  so  on  my  pilgrimage. 
But  I  shall  promise  God  that  I  won't  stand  between 
Him  and  grandma,  and  hinder  her  getting  to  the  end 
of  hers.  But  m.y  heart  bends  right  up  double  when  I 
think  how  old  and  how  feeble  she  is,  and  what  may 
come  any  day. 

Oh,  how  stupid  and  wrong  I  was !  Why  couldn't  I 
believe  dear  grandma  when  she  said  God  would  com- 
fort me  if  I  would  trust  Him  I  After  I  wrote  that  I 
knelt  down  and  said,  ''  Thy  wall  be  done !  Thy  will 
be  done !  "  and  there  came  to  me  such  sweet  peace 
that  I  could  hardly  help  dancing  about  my  room  ; 
but  I  hope  I  shall  never  do  anything  so  worldly  as 
that. 

MRS.   WOODFORD   PROCEEDS. 

Since  the  first  burst  of  emotion  on  the  morning 
after  Samuel  left,  Mr.  Woodford  has  been  as  tranquil 
as  ever.  He  never  mentions  his  name  now ;  but  I 
can   see  that   he  misses  him  sadly.     My  own  disap- 


96  PEMAQUID. 

pointment  at  the  failure  of  my  plans  for  him  and 
Juliet  is  very  bitter.  For  after  I  had  paid  the  Snells, 
I  began  to  deposit  small  sums  of  money  in  a  savings 
bank  at  Aroostook,  a  thriving  town  about  six  miles 
from  here.  It  was  for  Juliet,  not  for  myself;  but  as 
she  is  a  minor,  I  had  to  deposit  it  as  her  trustee.  If 
I  could  have  arranged  a  marriage  between  her  and 
Samuel,  my  conscience  would  have  been  perfectly  at 
rest ;  as  it  is,  I  am  tortured  with  fears  of  discover>^ 
Once  I  would  have  braved  detection ;  now  I  can 
not.  I  value  my  husband's  esteem  above  eveiything 
on  earth.  A  glance  of  contempt  from  him  would 
kill  me. 

All  these  years  of  strategy  have  begun  to  wear 
upon  me.  I  live  in  mortal  terror.  I  ought,  in  some 
way,  to  let  Juliet  know  about  her  money  ;  and  yet  if 
I  tell  her  now  it  will  be  the  signal  of  new  extrava- 
gances on  her  part.  It  will  be  better  to  address  to 
her  a  sealed  letter,  to  be  opened  only  in  case  of  my 
death,  telling  her  how  to  proceed  to  procure  the 
money,  and  directing  her  also  to  destroy  this  manu- 
script. But  for  pouring  out  my  cares  on  this  paper  I 
should  have  lost  my  senses. 

Mr.  Woodford  says  he  has  heard  of  the  son  of  an 
old  friend,  whom  he  shall  secure  as  book-keeper  in 
Samuel's  place,  and  that  he  shall  let  Mrs.  Strong 
take  him  to  board,  if  she  wishes  it,  as  she  and  Mr. 
Strong  find  it  hard  work  to  live  on  their  salary. 

But   I   do  not  see  how  she  can  endure  any  new 


MRS.   WOODFORD   PROCEEDS.  97 

cares.  The  Pemaquiders  seem  to  regard  her  as  their 
property,  exactly  as  they  do  Mr.  Strong.  She  has  to 
be  the  First  Directress  of  the  Sewing  Society,  the 
leader  of  the  Female  Prayer-meeting,  the  Treasurer 
of  the  Bible  Society  and  of  the  Auxiliary  Tract  So- 
ciety ;  she  has  charge  of  the  Juvenile  Benevolent 
Society,  the  Female  Benevolent  Society — and  they 
are  talking  of  having  a  Foreign  Mission  Society  be- 
sides. She  cuts  out  every  shroud  in  the  village. 
She  settles  all  the  feuds  that  arise  between  the  choir 
and  the  parish  ;  and  her  only  "  help  "  is  a  young  girl 
she  is  "  bringing  up,"  forsooth  !  I  should  like  to  be 
the  minister's  wife  here  for  one  week.  They  would 
not  find  it  so  easy  to  make  a  slave  of  me ! 

Mr.  Strong  spent  the  evening  here.  It  seems  his 
fame  has  extended  to  a  large  city;  commissioners 
have  come  to  hear  him  preach,  and  he  has  been 
"  called  "  to  an  important  church  there.  He  came  to 
consult  Mr.  Woodford  about  it — as  if  there  could  be 
any  question  in  his  mind  about  leaving  his  present 
laborious  and  obscure  position  !  How  "men  dilly-dally 
over  matters  women  settle,  as  the  Pemaquiders  say, 
in  a  jiffy ! 

Meanwhile  I  have  been  making  the  acquaintance 
of  our  new  book-keeper,  whom  he  brought  with  him. 
He  is  a  bright,  joyous,  attractive  young  fellow,  better 
educated  than  any  one  else  in  Pemaquid,  except  Mr. 
Strong.     Mr.  Woodford    likes   him,  and,   I    believe 


98  PEMAQUID. 

goes  to  the  Strongs  oftener  than  ever.  If  he  takes  a 
fancy  to  advance  his  interests  as  he  did  Samuel's, 
why  not  secure  him  for  Juh'et?  Meantime  I  shall 
take  care  to  make  myself  agreeable  to  him. 


KEZIA  MILLET   GETS   A   LETTER. 

"  Why,  look  here,  mother  !  I've  got  a  letter  from 
Pemaquid,  and  things  is  goin'  on  aivful  there.  I  al- 
ways said  our  minister  wasn't  one  of  the  common 
sort,  and  I've  argufyed  about  it  with  Lawyer  Snell 
and  Mis'  Snell  forty  times  if  I  have  once.  And  now 
he's  got  a  call  to  go  to  the  city  of  Broadstairs,  if  you 
know  whereabouts  that  is — I'm  sure  I  don't — and  all 
Pemaquid  is  lamentin',  and  the  Church  has  appointed 
a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer,  and  all  the  widows  is 
crying  out  to  heaven  not  to  take  away  their  live  idol 
that  they've  been  worshippin'  and  bowin'  down  to,  as 
if  he  was  great  A,  little  a-ron's  golden  calf.  They 
say  if  he'll  go,  they'll  give  him  a  big  salary  and  put 
him  in  a  handsome  house,  and  his  wife  can  keep  two 
girls  if  she's  a  mind  to,  and  have  their  children  go  to 
first-rate  schools,  and  I  don't  know  what  not. 

"  Of  course  he'll  go  ;  there  aint  no  of  course  about 
it.  It'll  be  just  as  the  Lord  says,  and  if  He  says  stay 
at  Pemaquid,  our  minister'll  stay.  I  declare,  I'm  all 
in  a  flurry  about  it.  And,  la !  mother,  who  do  you 
think's  dead  ?  Deborah  Snell !  You  might  knock 
me  down  with  a  straw !     And  our  Samuel,  he's  gone 


MjRS,    WOODFORD  IS  SURPRISED.        99 

oft';  I  always  said  he  and  that  woman  would  fall  out 
some  time,  dreadful." 

Sings  : 

"  O,  what  will  the  people  in  Pemaquid  say 
If  their  golden  idol  is  taken  away  ? 
I've  said  it  once,  and  I  say  it  again  : 
He  aint  the  least  like  the  children  of  men  : 
They  talk  in  the  Primer  about  Obadias, 
And  two  or  three  more  of  his  kind,  that  was  pious — 
But,  la  !  they  warn't  nothing  to  our  Parson  Strong ; 
He'll  make  a  short  cut  into  heaven  ere  long  !  " 

MRS.   WOODFORD   IS   SURPRISED. 

After  keeping  the  w^iole  village  in  a  ferment  for 
three  weeks,  Mr.  Strong  has  proclaimed  that  duty 
constrains  him  to  remain  here  !  The  man  must  be 
insane  !  To  refuse  the  most  tempting  offer,  the  most 
congenial  field  of  labor  and  settle  down  here  for  life ! 
For  my  part  I  am  disappointed.  I  hoped  we  should 
get  a  younger  man,  and  one  without  his  solemn  views 
of  life,  which  I  think  unnatural  and  unsound.  And  . 
what  he  has  done  to  make  himself  so  beloved  here  I 
can  not  imagine.  I  met  Mrs.  Strong  the  other  day, 
and  she  had  the  face  to  tell  me  she  was  glad  her  hus- 
band had  decided  to  remain  here !  As  if  she  /iked 
being  the  parish  slave,  doing  housework,  making  all 
her  own,  her  husband's,  and  her  children's  clothes  ! 
Why,  the  way  they  live  is  pitiful !  They  sleep  in  a 
deathly  cold  room,  with  two  of  the  children  in  a 
trundle-bed,  and  one  in  a  crib  by  Mrs.  Strong's  side ; 


100  PEMAQUID. 

if  any  of  them  are  ailing  in  the  night,  she  must  get 
up  and  attend  them  in  an  actually  freezing  atmos- 
phere—the weather  here  is  like  Greenland.  She  has 
to  get  up  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  see  about 
getting  breakfast;  then  the  children  are  brought 
down  and  dressed  by  the  kitchen  fire,  she  being  the 
nursery  maid,  and  shivering  herself  with  the  cold. 
They  make  their  coffee  of  parched  peas,  and  in  every 
department  economize  in  the  same  way.  She  hasn't 
had  a  new  dress  for  three  years,  and  Mr.  Strong  s  old 
camlet  cloak  looks  as  if  it  had  been  worn  fifty. 

These,  and  a  score  of  such  items,  I  have  learned 
through  Frank  Weston,  with  whom  I  am  on  the  best 
of  terms.  I  need  somebody  for  a  friend,  for  Mr. 
Woodford  still  holds  aloof.  He  seems  to  vent  on 
little  children  the  affection  I  long  to  have  him  bestow 
on  me.  The  other  day  I  met  him  drawing  one  of  the 
Strong  babies  on  a  little  sled,  the  child  having  reins 
and  a  whip  in  its  hand,  and  crying  out  to  him  to  "  Get 
up,  old  horse  !  " 

He  looked  ver}^  much  ashamed  when  he  saw  me, 
and  got  out  of  the  way  as  quickly  as  possible. 

It  is  amazing  that  he  does  not  see  how  I  honor 
him,  how  I  long  for  something  more  than  this  un- 
varying courtesy  and  cold  civility.  Did  he  love  my 
predecessor,  I  wonder  ?  And  is  his  heart  in  the  grave 
with  her?     Ah  !  I  envy  her  the  sleep  she  is  taking! 

-    Thanks  to  me — for  nobody  would  have  had  enter- 


MRS.   WOODFORD  IS  Slf-RFRTSED:     101 

prise  to  get  up  the  factory  if  ,1'  Hj^^,  ,r>;oi:  starred  thej.ri 
up  to  it — Pemaquid  is  thriving  finely.  Mr.  Woodford 
is  building  a  boarding-house  for  the  factory  girls  ;  two 
new  stores  are  going  up,  and  half  a  dozen  houses. 
And,  as  if  Mr.  Strong  was  not  overworked  before,  he 
has  undertaken  to  form  a  Bible-class  for  the  girls  and 
any  one  else  who  wants  to  attend ;  and  Mrs.  Strong 
came  and  asked  me  to  join  it!  I  think  I  see  myself 
saddled  with  anything  new  in  religion  !  It  is  just  as 
much  as  I  can  stand  to  keep  up  a  decent  outside  on 
Sundays.  Last  summer  we  had  a  most  disastrous 
drought,  and  everything  bid  fair  to  be  burned  to  a 
crisp.  Of  course  the  Church  appointed  a  day  of  fast- 
ing and  prayer,  and  Ruth,  who  was  home  for  a  short 
visit,  went  to  it,  carrying  a  huge  umbrella !  Just  fancy 
the  Lord  making  it  rain  to  suit  Pemaquid !  What 
does  He  care  for  Pemaquid?  But  Pemaquid  fasted, 
and  Pemaquid  humbled  itself,  and  Pemaquid  prayed, 
and  lo !  just  as  the  people  were  pouring  out  of  the 
meeting-house,  it  began  to  rain,  and  everybody  but 
Ruth  and  an  old  woman  she  waited  upon  home  got 
wet  to  the  skin.  Now  see  their  inconsistency  !  They 
pray  for  rain,  pretending  they  expect  to  gain  some- 
thing by  that  operation,  but  prove  that  they  did  not 
expect  anything  by  their  surprise  when  rain  appeared. 
P'or  my  part  I  think  it  is  blasphemous  to  pray  so  much. 
Fancy  the  Lord  caring  whether  farmer  Jay's  potatoes 
dried  up,  or  farmer  Tobey's  grass  !  It  isn't  likely  He 
ever  heard  of  either  of  them  ! 


102'  '''  -PEMAQUID. 

,  \  i^s  i;skid,  1lwtKxao?e,  home.  Deacon  Chitcome,  or 
some  such  name,  was  coming  this  way,  and  her  grand- 
mother sent  her  home  to  surprise  her  father,  who  had 
a  regular  Thanksgiving  Day  dinner  got  up,  and  sent 
for  the  Strongs  and  young  Weston.  The  latter 
seemed  not  a  little  struck  with  Ruth,  who,  it  must 
be  owned,  is  a  very  pretty,  quaint  girl,  who  looks  as 
if  she  had  just  stepped  out  of  ''  Watts'  and  Select 
Hymn-Book."  Her  father  says,  with  rapture,  that 
she  is  just  like  her  grandmother;  and  I  should  think 
they  were  just  about  of  an  age.  I  made  it  convenient 
for  Mr.  Woodford  to  take  her  back  to  Kittery  Point 
in  a  few  days,  as  Frank  Weston  might  get  fond  of 
her,  and  interfere  with  my  plans  for  Juliet.  Once 
having  seen  her^  this  little  Puritan  will  stand  no  sort 
of  a  chance.  Still,  it  is  to  be  hoped  grandma's 
precious  life  will  long  be  spared  ! 


ruth's  journal. 

It  was  so  kind  in  grandma  to  let  me  go  home  and 
see  father !  He  can  not  come  here  as  he  used,  for 
the  factory  takes  a  great  deal  of  his  time.  Consider- 
ing all  things,  he  looks  pretty  well.  I  missed  Kezia 
more  than  I  can  tell.  It  is  such  a  pity  she  went 
away,  for  all  the  girls  go  into  the  factory,  and  it  is 
impossible  to  get  good  help  in  the  kitchen.  I  made 
a  great  many  nice  things  for  them,  and  if  it  had  been 
cold  weather  would  have  made  enough  to  last  a  great 


J^  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  103 

while.     But  it  rained  so  much  after  the  day  of  fast- 
ing and  prayer,  that  things  got  mouldy. 

I  spent  one  day  at  the  parsonage — for  they've  built 
a  parsonage,  and  a  real  pretty  one,  too.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Strong  are  just  two  saints.  All  they  seem  to 
care  for  is  the  Church,  and  what  they  can  do  for  it. 
They  are  lovely  to  each  other,  and  lovely  to  their 
children.  Mrs.  Strong  has  always  loved  me  for  my 
own  mother's  sake,  and  she  told  me  a  great  many 
beautiful  things  about  her  that  she  said  I  was  not  old 
enough  to  understand  when  I  went  away,  more  than 
five  years  ago.  Take  it  all  together,  I  had  a  pleasant 
visit  at  home.  My  new  mother  treats  father  as  well 
as  she  knows  how,  and  waits  upon  him  and  hangs 
round  him  as  if  she  was  tr^ang  to  get  him  to  notice 
her.  But  he  doesn't.  I  saw  a  little  kitten  try  to  get 
intimate  with  a  very  large  black  dog  once.  But  he 
did  not  so  much  as  see  her. 


IX. 


"As  poor,  yet  making  many  rich ;  as  having  nothing,  and  yet  pos- 
sessing all  things." 

"  The  Pilgrims  they  lived  in  a  large  upper  chamber,  facing  the  sun 
rising.    The  name  of  the  chamber  was  Peace." 

ruth's  journal. 

DEAR  grandma  tried,  as  hard  as  she  could,  to  pre- 
pare me  for  what  she  knew  was  coming.  I  came 
down  one  morning,  trembling  with  the  cold,  and 
found  Rachel  had  made  the  fire,  and  was  busy  at  it. 
I  have  always  made  the  fire  myself,  for  Rachel  is  very 
old,  and  it  would  have  been  a  shame  to  let  her  get  up 
in  the  cold. 

*' Why,  Rachel,  what  are  you  up  for?  "  I  cried. 

"  This  is  the  fourth  day  of  this  horrid  cold  weather," 
she  said,  "  and  very  hot  and  very  cold  weather  is  bad 
for  the  aged.  They  are  apt  to  go  off  in  one  or  the 
other." 

I  did  not  understand  her. 

"  You'd  better  go  and  set  by  grandma,"  she  said. 
"  I  think  she's  took  a  change  in  the  night.  I  mis- 
trusted it  afore  I  went  to  bed,  and  I  jist  slep'  with 
one  ear  open." 

I  ran  into  grandma's  room,  but   didn't  see   any 

(104) 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL,  105 

change.  She  was  lying  there,  sleeping  like  a  baby, 
breathing  softly,  and  smiling  every  now  and  then. 

Rachel  came  in  with  a  cup  of  hot  tea,  but  she 
couldn't  rouse  grandma  to  take  it. 

"Drink  it  yourself,  poor  child,"  she  said;  "you'll 
need  it  before  the  day's  out ;  and  I'll  run  to  the  win- 
dow and  see  if  there's  any  one  passing.  It  would  be 
a  comfort  to  see  Father  Andrews." 

"  Oh,  send  for  the  doctor  first !  "  I  said. 

"  We  don't  want  no  doctors  round ;  we  want  our 
minister.  And  don't  you  take  on  so,  child.  It's 
enough  to  hender  grandma's  passage  into  Paradise." 

I  grew  still  in  a  minute.  Who  was  I  that  I  should 
dare  get  in  grandma's  way? 

At  last  Rachel  saw  a  boy  going  past,  and  sent  him 
for  Father  Andrews. 

"  Tell  him  there's  no  hurry,"  I  heard  her  say,  "  but 
to  eat  a  hot  breakfast  afore  he  venters  out." 

She  had  to  call  out  very  loud,  and  the  noise  woke 
grandma  up.  We  were  in  each  other's  arms  in  a 
minute,  and  she  told  me  how  she  loved  me. 

And  then  she  said,  "  I  got  my  invitation  in  the 
night.     You'll  let  me  go,  won't  you  ?  " 

I  thought  her  mind  was  wandering,  and  so  I  said : 

"  You  never  go  anywhere,  grandma.  Nobody  has 
invited  you  anywhere." 

She  smiled  and  pointed  upward.     Then  I  knew ! 

And  soon  she  fell  sweetly  asleep  again. 

Father  Andrews  lives  pretty  near  us.    He  came  in, 
5* 


106  PEMAQUID. 

a  good  deal  out  of  breath,  and  it  took  him  a  long 
time  to  get  over  it ;  for  he  is  ninety-three  years  old, 
and  has  been  the  minister  here  over  sixty. 

"  I  knew  you'd  want  to  see  her  once  more,"  said 
Rachel. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said.  ''But  I'm  jealous  of  her;  she 
has  outrun  me,  and  will  get  into  heaven  first ;  and  I 
wouldn't  have  thought  that  of  her." 

He  took  his  cane  and  slowly  made  his  way  to 
grandma's  side.  The  tears  rolled  down  his  venerable 
face  when  he  saw  her. 

Then  two  of  the  old  ladies  who  used  to  come  and 
pray  with  her  came  in.  They  sat  and  held  her  hand, 
and  now  and  then  would  say  a  text.  All  at  once 
one  of  them  asked  me  how  soon  my  father  would 
be  here. 

My  father !     I  had  not  thought  of  him  ! 

One  of  the  neighbors,  who  had  come  in  to  see  if 
we  wanted  help,  offered  to  go  for  him.  It  was  good 
sleighing,  and  the  sun  was  up.  Then  all  I  prayed 
for  was  that  she  might  live  till  he  came,  and  know 
him. 

And  she  did. 

And  then  what  a  prayer  Father  Andrews  made! 
Why,  he  opened  heaven  for  us,  and  let  us  see 
grandma  going  in,  and  smiling ! 

It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  felt  like  writing  here. 
Dear  grandma  has  gone  home,  and  I  have  come  home. 


jR  UTH'S  JO  URNAL.  107 

What  a  difference !  She  was  so  glad  to  go  that  I 
could  not  bear  to  ask  God  to  keep  her  here  for  my 
sake  and  Rachel's.  Yet  Rachel  says  she  shall  not 
know  how  to  live  without  her.  She  has  lived  with 
her  ever  since  I  was  born,  and  that  is  nearly  twenty 
years.  I  think  it  would  be  very  mean  and  cowardly 
in  me  to  want  to  keep  her  out  of  heaven  a  single  day 
because  I  was  not  willing  to  suffer  the  pain  of  part- 
ing from  her. 

Still,  the  pain  is  very  hard  to  bear,  and  if  it  was 
right  I  could  spend  my  whole  time  crying  and  moan- 
ing, for  it  is  just  as  if  a  mother  had  been  snatched 
away.  But  I  am  determined  to  obey  her  just  as  ex- 
actly as  if  she  could  speak  to  me  and  tell  me  how  to 
act,  and  to  do  that  all  my  life  long,  even  if  I  live  to 
be  eighty  years  old  ;  besides,  there  is  a  great  deal  to 
do.  Nobody  in  this  house  knows  how  to  prepare 
such  food  as  my  father  has  been  used  to ;  there  is  a 
girl  in  the  kitchen,  to  be  sure ;  but  she  is  slovenly 
and  ignorant,  and  I  must  do  all  the  nice  work  myself; 
and  I  can,  for  Rachel  has  taught  me  all  her  ways. 
Rachel  would  have  come  home  with  me,  but  she  is 
ail  worn  out,  and  needs  rest. 

Grandma  has  left  her  books  to  me.  These  are 
the  works  of  Hannah  More,  in  eight  volumes,  "  Owen 
on  the  Holy  Spirit  "  and  on  "  Spiritual-Mindedness," 
Baxter's  "  Saint's  Everlasting  Rest,"  the  ^'  Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  and  Taylor's  "  Holy  Living  and  Dying." 
They  are  all  such  books  as  it  is  good  for  a  weak  and 


108  FEMAQUID, 

ignorant  girl  like  me  to  read  over  and  over  again, 
and  it  almost  seems  as  if  I  could  see  dear  grandma's 
face,  as  I  sit  and  read  them  by  myself,  as  I  have  read 
them  to  her. 

I  am  too  old  to  be  slapped  in  the  face  now  by  Ju- 
liet or  anybody  else.  But  it  stings  worse  to  have 
such  holy  books  laughed  at  and  made  fun  of.  It  is 
like  making  fun  of  the  Being  I  love  and  adore  as  I 
love  nothing  else.  Poor  mother!  Poor  Juliet!  They 
know  not  what  they  do. 


MRS.    WOODFORD. 

Juliet  has  finished  her  course  at  school  and  has 
come  home,  since  which  event  I  dare  not  say  my 
soul  is  my  own.  It  was  more  comfortable  to  have 
her  away.  She  has  ill-bred  school-fellows  come  to 
visit  her,  and  goes  riding  and  driving  round  the  coun- 
try with  them,  while  it  never  seems  to  occur  to  her 
that  any  one  else  has  any  use  for  the  horses.  She 
and  Frank  Weston  have  become  quite  good  friends, 
and  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  if  she  marries  him, 
as  I  rather  think  she  intends  to  do,  she  will  not 
need  the  ill-gotten  sum  I  have  laid  up  for  her.  I 
wish  I  had  not  put  it  into  her  power  to  touch  it  by 
giving  her  the  sealed  letter,  to  be  opened  m  case  of 
my  death.  It  would  have  been  wiser  to  confide  my 
secret  to  Mr.  Woodford,  should  he  outlive  me.  But 
it  is  not  likely  that  he  will.     If  goodness  entitles  a 


MRS.   WOODFORD,  109 

man  to  a  passport  for  heaven,  he  may  go  there  any- 
day. 

A  messenger  has  just  come  to  summon  him  to  Kit- 
tery  Point.  He  took  time,  before  he  went,  to  send 
this  message  to  the  conference  meeting : 

''  Aaron  Woodford  requests  the  prayers  of  this 
church  for  his  mother,  lying  very  weak  and  low,  that 
she  may  be  restored  to  health,  or,  if  not,  prepared  for 
all  God's  will  and  pleasure." 

If  she  dies  I  suppose  Ruth  will  come  home.  Well, 
she  is  a  harmless  creature,  is  handy  with  her  needle, 
makes  delicious  things  for  the  table,  and  on  the 
whole  it  will  be  rather  a  convenience  to  have  her 
around. 

Ruth  has  come  home.  She  is  a  very  pretty  girl, 
with  her  father's  fresh  complexion,  smooth,  white  fore- 
head, and  honest,  kindly  blue  eyes.  Her  hair  has  not 
an  angular  line  in  it,  but  waves  and  curls  gracefully 
about  her  head.  The  contrast  between  her  and  Ju- 
liet is  almost  ludicrous. 

On  Sunday,  just  before  we  rose  for  the  long  prayer, 
what  were  my  sensations  on  hearing  these  words 
read  from  the  pulpit : 

''  Aaron  Woodford  and  his  wife  desire  your  prayers 
that  the  death  of  their  mother  may  be  sanctified  to 
them  for  their  spiritual  and  everlasting  good ;  "  after 
which  followed  one  from  Ruth,  to  much  the  same  effect. 


110  PEMAQUID. 

The  time  has  been  that  this  would  have  driven  me 
out  of  the  meeting-house  in  a  rage.  As  it  is,  I  can 
not  afford  to  insult  Mr.  Woodford.  But  how  I  felt, 
standing  shivering  through  a  v/hole  hour  of  "  long 
prayer,"  and  Mr.  Strong  piling  up  petitions  for  me  to 
a  heaven  I  do  not  more  than  half  believe  in!  Juliet 
fairly  giggled  aloud,  "  Their  mother,  indeed  !  "  And 
yet,  such  are  the  contradictions  of  human  nature, 
there  was  a  mixture  of  sweetness  in  the  words. 

JULIET  WRITES   TO   HER  FRIEND   IN   BOSTON. 

Since  you  went  home  I  have  had  all  sorts  of  times 
with  Frank.  In  the  first  place,  Ruth  Woodford's 
"grandma"  must  needs  go  and  die,  and  she  has 
come  home  and  quartered  herself  in  Samuel's  room. 
She's  just  such  a  girl  as  I  cant  endure.  When  we 
were  young  ones  she'd  let  me  slap  her  in  the  face, 
and  pull  her  hair,  and  any  other  little  pastimes  of  the 
sort.  She  is  just  as  mean-spirited  still.  The  other 
day  I  went  to  get  her  to  hook  my  dress,  and  there 
she  was  arranging  a  set  of  old  musty  books,  left  her 
by  her  grandmother,  in  a  little  pine  bookcase  she  had 
just  had  made.  I  took  down  volume  after  volume, 
and  read  paragraphs  here  and  there,  which  I  made 
sound  perfectly  ridiculons. 

"  Do  you  pretend  that  you  li^e  these  solemn  old 
divines?  "  I  asked  her,  at  last. 

"  Like  them  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Yes,  and  love  them 
too." 


JULIET  WRITES  TO  HER  FRIEND.     Ill 

"And  you  believe  in  prayer-meetings  and  fast- 
days,  and  all  such  nonsense?  " 

"Juliet,  I  do  not  try  to  wound  and  hurt  you  ;  then 
why  do  you  come  and  try  to  wound  me  ?  "  she  cried 
out. 

"  Because  I  hate  religion  the  way  it's  thrust  on  one 
here  at  Pemaquid.     I  hate  it,  I  say  !  " 

"  You  have  a  right  to  hate  it,  I  suppose,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  have  rights,  too.  I  have  the  right  to  leave 
the  room,  and  shall  take  it  now." 

So  off  she  marched,  and  I  took  the  opportunity  to 
act  the  spy  in  her  apartment.  In  the  first  place,  it 
seems  she  has  a  fire.  Then  I  shall  have  one  in  my 
room.  In  the  second  place,  she  has  got  stored  away 
in  a  box  an  old  faded  flower  or  two,  so  it  is  plain  she 
is  in  love  with  some'  Kittery  Point  swain.  In  the 
third  place,  she  keeps  a  journal ;  and  I  have  read 
some  holy  twaddle  in  it,  but  find  no  mention  of  the 
swain.  And  now  to  sum  up  her  crimes  in  one. 
Frank  walked  home  from  meeting  with  her  last  Sun- 
day night,  though  he  knew  all  I  went  for  was  to  see 
him !  Don't  you  wish  her  joy  of  the  life  I  am  going 
to  lead  her? 

I  flirted  desperately  with  Josiah  Stone,  who  did 
me  the  honor  to  escort  me  home.  I  did  not  seem  to 
observe  it,  but  sang  hymns  with  Ruth.  The  girl  is  a 
perfect  beauty.  But  she's  deep.  She  knows  how  to 
get  at  the  best  side  of  Frank,  and  between  us  both  I 
imagine  he  is  half  distracted.     It  is  my  opinion  that 


112  PEMAQUID. 

he'd  like  to  marry  Ruth  on  Sundays  and  fast-days, 
and  have  me  week-days.  Well,  burn  this  letter  up, 
there's  a  dear,  and  I'll  do  as  much  for  you. 


MRS.   WOODFORD. 

The  throat  distemper  is  raging  here  in  perfect  fury, 
and  in  all  the  region  round  about.  A  public  fast  was 
therefore  ordained,  but  very  few  were  present.  The 
women  have  their  hands  full  taking  care  of  the  sick, 
and  the  men  are  doing  the  housework  their  wives  have 
no  time  to  attend  to.  The  children  are  dying  off  at 
the  rate  of  three  or  four  to  a  family.  I  stirred  up  the 
people  to  buy  a  bell,  but  I  never  would  have  done  it 
if  I  had  foreseen  these  dreadful  times.  Its  dismal 
toll  falls  on  the  ear  every  few  hours,  ringing  out  the 
age  of  the  departed.  Juliet  is  half  wild  with  terror. 
She  will  not  enter  a  house  or  see  any  one  who 
comes  here,  lest  she  should  take  the  infection.  News 
has  come  that  one  hundred  children  have  died  in  an 
adjacent  parish.  One  old  man,  aged  ninety-nine, 
has  died  here.  Nothing  could  be  more  forlorn  than 
the  ninety-nine  strokes  of  the  bell. 

Juliet  has  just  come  to  say  that  stay  here  she  can't 
and  won't. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  leave  the  field  to  Ruth  then  ?  " 
I  ask. 

"  What  field  ?  " 

"  Frank  Weston,  to  be  sure." 


MRS.    WOODFORD.  113 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  would  look  at  that  little  chit 
after  he  had  seen  ME  ?  '* 

"  Well,  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

*'  To  Boston  ;  to  some  of  the  girls  at  Boston." 

"  And  suppose  I  have  the  distemper  while  you  are 
gone? " 

*'  Why,  I  suppose  Pa  Woodford  and  Ruth  would 
see  you  through  it.    /  wouldn't  do  it  for  the  world  !  " 

"  But  I  might  not  survive  it,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  would.     You  are  not  fit  to  die." 

"  Neither  are  you." 

"  I  know  it ;  and  that's  the  reason  I'm  going  to 
beat  a  retreat.  And  I  must  have  some  money  right 
away." 

There  was  no  use  in  arguing  with  her,  so  I  reluc- 
tantly gave  her  the  money,  and  she  is  to  start  in  the 
stage  as  soon  as  she  can  get  ready. 

Ruth  says  Mr.  Strong  is  wearing  himself  out  with 
going  round  and  praying  with  the  dying. 

I  said  I  thought  it  very  wrong  to  expose  his  own 
family  in  that  way.  If  he  must  pray,  couldn't  he  do 
it  at  home  ?  She  said  she  did  not  think  it  was  the 
same  thing. 

Frank  Weston  walked  home  from  meeting  with 
Ruth  last  night,  and  said  he  had  stopped  on  his  way 
for  the  doctor,  as  Mrs.  Strong  was  not  well. 

"  If  she  has  the  distemper  tell  her  I  will  come  and 
take  care  of  the  children,"  said  Ruth. 


lU  P  EM  A  QUID. 

"  You  will  do  no  such  thing !  "  I  cried. 

"  I  certainly  shall,"  she  said,  turning  upon  me  a 
look  I  had  never  seen  on  her  face  before. 

Juliet  was  afraid  to  come  down,  but  she  leaned 
over  the  banisters  and  held  a  bantering  dialogue  with 
Frank  from  that  retreat. 

"  If  they've  got  the  distemper  at  the  Strongs  you'll 
be  catching  it  next.  Don't  come  here  if  you  do,  for 
pity's  sake." 

"  It  is  the  last  place  I  should  come  to,"  he  said  with 
some  contempt.  ''  If  I  find  Mrs.  Strong  too  sick  to 
take  care  of  herself  I  will  come  back  for  you,  Ruth." 

So  it's  Ruth  already,  is  it? 

"  She  sha'n't  go,"  cried  Juliet,  "  she'll  bring  the  hor- 
rid disease  to  us." 

"  I  shall  go,"  said  Ruth.  ''  I  am  no  longer  a  child. 
What  is  the  use  of  being  a  strong  and  healthy  young 
woman  if  I  am  not  to  nurse  the  sick  ?  " 

We  had  hardly  got  to  bed  when  Frank  returned. 
Ruth  opened  her  window.  He  said  she  was  needed 
at  the  Strongs.  I  begged  Mr.  Woodford  to  forbid 
her  going,  since  she  was  so  headstrong  and  would  not 
obey  me.  He  said  somebody  must  go,  and  why  not 
Ruth?  Somebody's  daughter  must  go, why  not  his? 
He  got  up  and  dressed,  harnessed  the  sleigh,  which 
he  piled  up  with  provisions,  and  drove  off.  I  made 
him  promise  not  to  go  into  the  house,  and  Juliet 
and  I  snuffed  up  hot  vinegar  till  he  came  back.     He 


KEZIA  RECEIVES  ANOTHER  LETTER.  115 

reported  Mrs.  Strong  as  very  sick  with  the  distemper 
and  two  of  the  children  as  aiHng. 

Ruth  was  going  to  sit  up  all  night.  She  had  her 
Bible  and  her  '^  Saint's  Everlasting  Rest  "  to  keep  her 
company. 

KEZIA  MILLET  RECEIVES  ANOTHER  LETTER  FROM 
PEMAQUID. 

Oh,  mother,  help  me  pack  my  trunk  right  away ! 
They've  got  the  distemper  down  to  Pemaquid,  and 
our  Ruth's  gone  right  into  it,  and  the  Squire,  he's 
down  with  it,  and  I'm  a-goin'  right  down  to  nuss  him. 
Aint  it  lucky  you  didn't  want  to  have  no  numb  palsy, 
and  air  as  spry  as  a  gal,  and  don't  need  me  to  home  ? 
Oh,  the  Squire !  That  blessed  man  !  He  sha'n't  die 
for  want  o'  nussing !  Aint  I  afraid  of  catching  it  my- 
self?    No,  I  aint  a  mite  afraid  of  catching  it  myself. 

But  s'pose  I  do  ?  I  aint  afraid  to  die,  mother.  I 
know  I'm  a  poor,  sinful  creetur,  but  there's  One 
standin'  in  my  place  that  never  sinned  and  the  Judge 
wont  never  think  of  old  Keziey  Millet  when  He  sees 
His  lovely  face,  and  so  I'd  jist  slip  in  at  the  gate  un- 
beknownt. 

PACKS   HER  TRUNK  AND   SINGS. 

Though  mountings  fall  and  seas  are  dry, 

I  never  will  my  Lord  deny  ; 

The  pestilence  may  walk  at  night, 

But  He  will  make  my  midnight  bright ; 

My  duty  I'm  resolved  to  do, 

And  He  will  see  me  safely  through ; 


116  PEMAQUID. 

I'll  nuss  the  blessed  Squire,  he, 
And  even  that  Mis'  Woodford,  she. 
Put  up  some  currant  jelly,  mother  ! 
That  aint  the  jar !     I  meant  the  other ! 
And  you're  a  master-hand  at  prayer, 
So  pray  for  me  while  I  am  there. 
That  I  consistent  may  remain 
And  never  slip  and  fall  again. 
And  suffer  such  a  dreadful  pain. 


X. 

"There  is  no  peace,  saith  my  God,  for  the  wicked." 
MRS.  WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 

A  FEW  days  after  Ruth  went  away  Juliet  rushed 
into  my  room,  with  a  white  face,  and  the  an- 
nouncement that  she  had  the  distemper. 

''  It's  all  Ruth's  fault,"  she  said.  "  If  she  had  stayed 
at  home,  and  helped  me  to  do  my  sewing,  I  should 
have  got  away  from  this  abominable  hole." 

I  had  hardly  got  her  into  bed  when  Mr.  Woodford 
came  in,  and  said  he  thought  he  was  going  to  be  sick 
too. 

I  felt  as  if  I  should  drop.  What  was  I  to  do  be- 
tween them  both?  At  first  he  would  not  go  to  bed, 
but  insisted  on  helping  me  in  the  care  of  Juliet,  whose 
malady  was  greatly  aggravated  by  her  alarm.  But 
at  last  he  had  to  yield  to  the  fearful  exhaustion  that 
accompanies  this  disease.  My  heart  died  within  me. 
What  if  I  should  fall  sick  with  it  myself?  What  if  I 
should  take  it  and  die  ? 

The  thought  made  me  shudder !  I  have  a  dread  of 
death  beyond  compare. 

The  Bible  says  something  comes  after  death  ;  I  be- 
lieve it  is  judgement. 

(iir) 


118  PEMAQUID. 

In  two  days  I  was  nearly  worn  out  with  running 
back  and  forth  between  the  two  rooms.  For  among 
friends  who  would  rally  round  the  Squire  in  this 
emergency,  there  was  not  one  who  did  not  have  his 
or  her  hands  full,  the  malady  was  so  wide-spread.  As 
to  money,  there  was  not  enough  in  all  Pcmaquld  to 
induce  hirelings  to  venture  into  an  infested  house ; 
and  no  wonder. 

What,  then,  was  my  relief  when  Kezia  Millet  came 
rushing  in,  caught  up  the  reins  where  she  had  let 
them  drop,  and  became  mistress  of  the  house.  Her 
energy,  her  strength,  her  tact  and  skill,  her  perfect 
fearlessness  of  the  disease,  made  her  presence  in- 
valuable. 

"  Were  you  never  afraid  to  die,  Kezia  ?  "  I  asked 
her,  one  day. 

''  La,  yes,  when  I  was  a  poor,  unconverted  creetur 
like  you  be,"  she  said. 

."  What  is  being  converted  ?  " 

"  Why,  it's  turnin'  right  round,  and  bein'  jist  as 
different  from  what  you  was  before  as  can  be.  Here, 
Squire,  you  drink  this  'ere  raspberry  syrup  right 
down.     It's  the  best  thing  for  the  throat  there  is." 

"  I  would  give  anything  not  to  fear  death." 

"  Massy  sakes  alive  !     'Taint  givin  ,     It's  takin\' 

"  Taking  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  what  the  Lord  gives  you." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  No,  of  course  you  don't.     Everything's  got  to  be 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JO  UJ^JVAL.  119 

learnt.  It  aint  jist  having  ingredientses  that'll  make 
a  mince-pie.  It's  gettin'  the  right  proportionses  ;  a 
little  beef  here,  and  a  little  suet  there  ;  jist  enough 
apple  and  jist  enough  raisins,  and  jist  so  much  spice. 
Now,  Christians  is  different.  One'U  be  all  beef,  and 
another  all  suet,  and  another  all  raisins  ;  but  'twon't 
do.     They  oughter  learn  the  proportionses." 

Now  how  was  I  going  to  make  anything  out  of 
this  jargon. 

And  yet  I  could  endure  her  homely  talk  better 
than  I  could  Mr.  Strong's  pious  prayers,  or  the  old 
deacon's  solemn  discourses  and  talk  about  revivals.  I 
wonder  what  a  revival  is,  anyhow.  If  I  could  get  re- 
ligion enough  to  take  away  miy  harassing  fear  of  death, 
I  think  I  should  be  glad  to  do  It.  But  I  do  not  know 
how. 

''  Kezia,"  I  began  again,  ''  suppose  you  should  catch 
the  disease,  and  die?" 

''  Well,  suppose  I  should  ?  Mother  can  take  care 
of  herself  now,  and  when  she  gets  old  and  beat  out 
she  can  go  to  live  to  my  brother's  at  Bethel.  My 
brother  has  got  the  cutest  little  wife  you  ever  see." 

''  But  I  was  not  asking  about  your  mother.  I  was 
asking  about  you." 

"  Oh,  me  ?     Why,  I  should  go  to  heaven." 

*'  You  couldn't  know  that." 

"  Yes,  I  could.  Why,  even  Job  knew,  and  Christ 
hadn't  come  in  his  day.  And  it's  hard  if  we  can't 
know  in  our'n." 


120  PEMAQUID. 

I  had  been  away  too  long  from  Juliet,  and  now  re- 
turned to  her.  I  found  her  very  fretful  and  fractious, 
and  displeased  at  being  left  alone. 

''  Pa  Woodford  has  got  Kezia,"  she  said,  "  and 
what  does  he  want  of  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  wants  anything  of  me ;  but  I 
want  a  great  deal  from  him.  It  would  nearly  kill  me 
to  lose  him." 

"  That's  the  greatest  joke  I  ever  heard  in  my  life  ! 
I  suppose  you'll  say  you  love  him  next,  and  will  call 
him  dear  Aaron  !  " 

"  Juliet,  you  are  enough  to  drive  me  wild.  Why 
don't  you  fix  your  mind  on  the  danger  you  are  in  ?  " 

"Danger?  Danger  of  what?  Who  says  I'm  in 
danger?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  sooner?  Why 
didn't  you  bring  me  up  better  ?  Mother,  is  there  suck 
a  place  as  hell?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  hope  not.  I  brought  you  up  as 
well  as  I  knew  how.  And  as  to  the  danger,  you  are 
not  nearly  so  sick  as  Mr.  Woodford  ;  not  nearly. 
But  everybody  is  in  danger  who  has  this  horrid  dis- 
ease." 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  mother — if  I  die,  and  am  lost 
forever,  it  will  be  your  fault,  and  you'll  have  the  com- 
fort of  remembering  it  after  I'm  gone.  It's  the 
mother's  fault  when  their  children  go  astray.  Oh  dear ! 
Oh  dear  me  !     How  sick  I  am  !  " 

Just  then  the  doctor  came  into  the  house,  stamp- 
ing the  snow  off  his  feet,  and  making  noise  enough 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JO  URNAL.  121 

to  wake  the  dead.  For  all  that  he  is  a  great  favorite 
of  mine.  Running  over  with  health,  vivacity,  and 
kind-heartedness,  he  is  quite  the  opposite  of  his 
gloomy  partner,  who  attended  the  Squire  at  one  time, 
and  pretended  that  he  could  not  live  a  week. 

He  rushed  into  the  sick-room  now,  bustling,  laugh- 
ing, hopeful,  and  bringing  in  pure  breezes  from  without. 

" Well,  Aaron,  how  are  you?  Hi!  what  are  you 
shaking  your  head  for  ?  How  dare  you  shake  your 
head  ?  Do  you  pretend  to  say  you  are  not  ten  per 
cent,  better  than  you  was  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  realize  that  I  am.     I  have  no  vigor." 

"  Vigor !  Vigor  !  Well,  who  expects  vigor  on  a 
sick-bed  ?  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  Have  you  taken 
your  nourishment  regular?" 

"  I  had  no  appetite.     I  have  declined  food." 

**  Kezia  Millet,  hand  me  that  gruel.  Did  you  bile 
raisins  in  it,  as  I  told  you  ?  Here,  Squire,  open  your 
mouth  while  I  pour  a  pint  of  these  slops  into  you." 

"  You  act  as  if  the  Squire  was  a  hay-mow,  and  you 
was  a-pitchin'  in  hay,"  quoth  Kezia. 

"  Hand  me  my  bag  and  hold  your  tongue  while  I 
make  up  some  powders.  I'm  going  to  give  him  a 
good  dose  of  calomel  and  jalop.  Wish  I'd  done  it 
sooner.     How's  the  girl,  Mrs.  Woodford  ?  " 

I  told  him  she  was  very  restless  and  nervous,  and 
took  him  to  see  her. 

"  Doctor,  tell  me  the  truth,"  she  said,  "  am  I  very 

sick?" 

6 


122  PEMAQUID. 

.  *'  How  can  I  tell  before  I've  seen  your  throat  ? 
Hand  me  a  spoon,  Mrs.  Woodford.  Well,  your  throat 
is  pretty  bad,  but  we'll  pull  you  through,  we'll  pull 
you  through." 

Juliet  threw  upon  me  a  reproachful  look. 

"  Mother  frightened  me  nearly  to  death,"  she  said. 

''  What  is  there  to  be  frightened  about  ?  What's 
death  ?  Why,  it's  the  beginning  of  all  that  is  good. 
Still,  it's  my  business  to  keep  people  alive,  and  I 
shall  stick  to  my  business  and  pull  you  through." 

I  followed  him  out  with  imploring  looks. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  they're  both  bad  cases  ;  veiy  bad. 
I  can't  say  how  they'll  turn  out.  And  as  to  the 
Squire,  it  does  not  matter.  He's  been  two-thirds  in 
heaven  many  a  long  year.  And  as  to  the  girl,  it  aint 
for  me  to  be  her  judge,  nor  yours  either.  Keep  up 
their  spirits,  anyhow.  Take  pattern  by  me.  I  never 
carry  such  a  face  as  yours  into  a  sick-room." 

I  went  out  into  the  kitchen.  I  knew  there  was  no- 
body there.  Our  girl  had  left  us  in  afright.  There 
was  a  good  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  a  kettle  boiling  on 
the  crane.  Kezia  had  got  everything  under  way  for 
dinner.  I  lay  down  on  the  cold  floor,  that  shone 
with  yellow  paint  and  cleanliness,  and  wished  I  were 
dead.  They  were  all  I  had,  and  both  bad  cases 
very  bad ! 

But  I  heard  Juliet  shrieking  from  her  room,  and 
had  to  go  to  her. 

She   wanted   her   pillow    shaken  up;    she   wanted 


MJ^S.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL,  123 

water ;  she  wanted  gruel  without  those  nasty  raisins 
in  it.  I  went  to  make  the  gruel,  and  met  Kezia  in 
the  kitchen. 

''  Don't  you  be  so  down-hearted,  Mis'  Woodford," 
she  said  ;  "  our  doctor  is  an  experienced  old  man,  and 
knows  what  he's  about.     He'll  have  to  pull  prett}A- 
hard  to  keep  the  Squire  out  o'  Paradise,  but,  la !  your 
Juliet  aint  drawed  that  way  !  " 

I  heard  Juliet  calling  again,  and  hastened  to  her  side. 

"  You  keep  leaving  me  alone,"  she  whined.  ''  I 
don't  dare  to  be  alone  a  minute.  Why  does  not 
Ruth  come  home  and  help  take  care  of  me  ?  There's 
plenty  of  other  people  in  the  parish  to  take  care  of 
the  Strongs." 

'^  So  there  are ;  I  will  send  for  her.  But  she  will 
not  come." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"What  sort  of  treatment  has  she  had  from  you?" 

She  made  no  reply.  I  wrote  a  hasty  note  to  Ruth, 
telling  her  of  our  sore  trouble,  and  asking  her  to 
come  to  our  relief. 

"  Well,  now,  it's  a  sight  I  never  expected  tb  see  ! " 
cried  Kezia,  "  and  it's  a  sight  good  for  sore  eyes. 
You've  went  and  wrote  a  note  asking  for  the  prayers 
of  the  Church  ;  now  haven't  yer?  " 

"/ask  for  the  prayers  of  the  Church  !  "  I  exclaim- 
ed.    "You  are  out  of  your  senses,  Kezia." 

"Worse  luck  for  you,  then,"  she  said,  and  went 
back  to  Mr.  Woodford. 


124  PEMAQUID. 

To  be  sure,  there  was  this  one  last  faint  hope.  But 
after  my  sneers  at  such  resorts,  could  I  humble 
myself  to  seek  it  now  ? 

I  sent  off  my  note  to  Ruth  and  sat  down  by  Juliet. 
She  was  very  restless,  though  sleeping,  and  often 
cried  out  aloud.  Then  I  would  waken  her  and  ask 
why  she  cried.  She  made  no  answer,  and  would 
sleep  again.  The  short  winter's  day  was  growing 
gray ;  I  sat  in  the  gathering  darkness,  fighting  with 
myself.     Kezia  came  in  noiselessly. 

*'  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  the  Squire,"  she  whis- 
pered.    "  Come  and  see  what  you  think." 

I  followed  her,  and  she  held  the  candle  so  as  to  let 
me  see  the  worn,  exhausted  face.  He,  too,  was 
asleep,  or  dead,  it  was  hard  to  tell  which. 

As  we  stood  there  the  doctor  came  in.  After 
examining  his  patient  he  turned,  without  a  word, 
to  Juliet's  bedside.     That,  too,  he  left  in  silence. 

"  I  have  done  all  I  can  for  them.  They  are  in 
God's  hands.     He  can  save  them,  even  now." 

I  told  him  I  had  sent  for  Ruth. 

^'  She  can't  come,"  he  said.  "  It's  hard  for  her,  but 
she  can't  come.  Those  little  Strongs  won't  take  any- 
thing except  from  her  ;  their  miOther  is  very  low  and 
so  are  they ;  their  only  chance  of  living  is  in  her  being 
there.  Mrs.  Strong  has  a  very  peculiar  feeling  to- 
ward Ruth  ;  she  thinks  she  is  Love  Woodford,  come 
back  from  heaven  to  take  care  of  her.     I'll  look  in 


MJiS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL,  r25 

again  about  nine  o'clock  this  evening.  Put  your 
trust  in  God,  ma'am." 

It  might  not  do  any  good  to  ask  for  the  prayers  of 
the  Church.  But  it  could  not  do  any  harm,  except 
to  my  pride.  And  was  this  a  time  to  nourish  that  ? 
I  wrote  the  note  and  sent  it.  Yet  for  Mr.  Woodford 
there  was  no  need  to  ask  the  prayers  of  the  Church 
that  loved  him  to  a  man. 

When  the  doctor  came  in  the  evening,  he  brought 
Ruth  with  him  to  give  her  father  a  parting  kiss.  She 
then  went  to  Juliet's  room,  and  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead.  She  looked  worn  and  weary,  and  crept 
silently  away  to  the  parsonage. 

It  was  a  keen,  wintry  night,  and  the  moonlight  lay 
all  over  the  snow.  Our  patients  slept  on.  Kezia, 
exhausted  with  fatigue  and  grief,  slept  in  her  chair. 
Never  had  I  felt  so  lonely  in  my  life.  Hour  after 
hour  dragged  on ;  I  stole  from  one  sick-room  to  an- 
other, gave  drops  as  directed,  and  watched  for  the 
day.  It  began  early.  I  heard  the  man  open  the  barn- 
doors and  bring  the  cattle  out  for  water ;  then  the 
poultry  flew  down  from  their  roosts,  and  their  clear, 
loud  voices  proclaimed  that  with  them  all  was  well ; 
then  dogs  began  to  bark ;  then  came  the  sound  of 
distant  sleigh-bells.  And  as  daylight  dawned,  the 
solemn  bell  in  the  church  steeple  began  to  toll.  I 
counted  :  one,  two,  three,  four ;  some  little  child  dead. 
How  many  times  would  it  toll  for  Juliet  ?  how  many 
for  my  husband  ?     Kezia  awoke  refreshed.     She  wen^ 


126  PEMAQUID. 

down  to  the  kitchen  and  made  coffee,  and  brought 
me  some. 

At  last  the  bells  began  to  ring  for  the  morning 
service.  I  heard  the  sleighs  go  by ;  the  bell  tolled  ; 
the  last  sleigh  load  had  gone  into  the  house  of  God ; 
soon  the  church  will  stand  up  and  pray.  I  looked  at 
my  two  patients — they  were  both  living. 

Now  the  church  is  praying — praying  for  us,  I  said 
to  myself.  *'  If  their  prayers  prevail  I  shall  believe 
.in  God,"  I  said  aloud. 

"  They  will  prevail,"  said  Kezia.  ''  But  it  may  not 
be  in  a  way  to  suit  us.  God  knows  a  great  many 
things  we  don't.  He  may  see  that  it's  best  for  you 
to  be  chastised.  He  may  take  that  poor  girl  of  yours 
away,  to  keep  her  from  breaking  your  heart." 

The  doctor  came  in  quietly,  and  examined  his 
patients  with  great  care. 

"  While  there's  life  there's  hope,"  he  said. 

I  asked  what  child  had'died  that  morning. 

*'Itwas  little  Woodford  Strong,"  he  said.  "The 
Squire's  namesake." 

''■  How  are  the  others  ?  " 

"  Going,  too." 

"What,  Mrs.  Strong,  and  all?'* 

"  No,  only  the  children." 

"  It  will  kill  the  Strongs  to  lose  all  their  children." 

"  No,  it  will  not.  It  will  change  this  world  to  them 
forever,  but  it  will  not  kill  them.  They  may  be 
brought  low,  but  God  will  help  them." 


MJ^S.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.         127 

At  noon  the  bell  began  to  toll  again. 

I  counted  as  before.  One,  two,  three.  Another 
of  the  Strongs. 

And  yet  again  :  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven  : 
Love  Woodford  Strong.  I  heard  afterward  that  her 
father  was  praying  with  her  when  she  went. 

"  I  want  something  to  eat,"  said  Juliet.  It  was  as 
a  voice  from  the  dead.  I  gave  her  gruel  with  wine, 
and  she  fell  asleep  again,  but  cried  out  no  more. 

I  went  to  look  at  my  husband. 

He  was  awake  and  conscious.  Kezia  w^as  crying 
for  joy.  He  looked  at  me  and  spoke.  I  could  not 
understand  what  he  said. 

But  it  was  no  matter ;  he  was  alive. 

Convalescence  was  rapid  in  both  cases,  but  there 
was  more  to  do  for  them  than  when  they  were  in 
most  danger.  Ruth  came  home  and  relieved  us  in 
our  cares.  She  was  as  devoted  to  Juliet  as  to  her 
father;  bearing  with  her  whims  wdth  extreme  pa- 
tience, and  inventing  numberless  ways  of  diverting 
her  in  the  tedious  hours  of  confinement  to  her  room. 
Juliet  did  not  realize  that  her  life  had  been  in 
danger;  her  illness,  therefore,  had  no  moral  effect. 
She  was  eager  to  get  out,  to  see  her  friends,  to  take 
sleigh  rides,  to  amuse  herself  as  she  had  been  wont 
to  do. 

Mr.  Woodford  sat  patiently  in  his  chair  by  the 
fire ;  R  uth  read  aloud  to  him  from  some  of  her 
choice   books ;    Kezia  put  the  disordered   house   to 


128  PEMAQUID. 

rights,  made  marvels  of  good  things  for  our  invahds, 
and  I  thought  I  had  at  last  found  rest. 

For  of  course  I  never  meant  to  part  again  from 
the  faithful,  excellent  creature,  whose  value  I  never 
knew  till  I  had  lost  her.  What  annoyance  I  have 
suffered  in  my  kitchen  during  her  absence!  What 
waste  and  destruction  have  gone  on  there ! 


XI. 

I      "  Ah,  if  you  knew  what  peace  there  is  in  an  accepted  sorrow  1  " 

ruth's  journal. 

I  WAS  at  the  parsonage  four  weeks.  I  can  hardly 
keep  from  crying  when  I  think  how  patiently  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Strong  bear  their  grief.  It  will  be  some- 
thing to  remember  all  my  life. 

All  their  dear  little  children  are  gone.  Mrs.  Strong 
was  near  death,  too,  and  so  were  my  father  and 
Juliet.  The  parish  got  together  and  prayed  for  us 
all  in  our  agony.  And  my  father  and  Mrs.  Strong 
and  Juliet  are  getting  well.  But  for  some  reason — / 
can't  see  any^  but  God  can — the  little  ones  died. 
And  Rachels  are  weeping  all  over  the  village.  In 
every  house,  almost,  there  is  one  dead ;  in  some 
houses  three,  in  some  four. 

Mr.  Strong  seems  to  forget  his  ov/n  grief  in  his 
sympathy  for  his  people.  He  goes  from  house  to 
house  praying  with  the  sick  and  with  the  afflicted, 
and  on  Sunday  he  preached  to  the  mourners. 

I  was  not  there,  as   I  was  needed  at  home,  but  I 

have  had  the  privilege  of  reading  the  sermon  and  of 

copying  part  of  it. 

He  says :  "  As  far  as  my  experience  goes,  attempts 
6*  (129) 


130  FEMAQUID. 

at  human  consolation  are  a  solemn  mockery.  I  may 
tell  you  that  your  children  were,  perhaps,  taken  from 
evil  to  come.  But  is  a  mother's  aching  heart  to  be 
healed  by  a  perhaps?  You  may  tell  me  that  my 
children  would,  peradventure,  have  grown  up  to  evil 
courses,  from  which  God  snatched  them  in  their  in- 
nocent childhood.  But  in  this  awful  hour  away  with 
peradventures!  What  you  want,  what  I  want,  is  a 
Reality,  yea,  a  Personality,  which,  as  it  looms  up  in 
the  misty  distance,  we  may  descry  in  the  storm, 
toward  which  we  may  make  our  way  in  our  disman- 
tled ships,  on  which  we  may  cast  anchor,  to  do  battle 
'^ith  the  uncertain  waves  no  more. 

"  It  is  to  our  God  we  must  look  when  we  have  taken 
our  last  look  at  the  faces  we  loved  ;  it  is  on  His  sov- 
ereign, holy,  infallible  will  that  we  must  plant  our 
stumbling,,  bewildered  feet.  Ten  thousand  reasons 
we  could  not  understand,  should  He  stoop  to  explain 
them,  guide  His  infinite  mind ;  He  knows  why  He 
spares  this  life,  why  He  takes  that.  He  is  not  an  ar- 
bitrary Sovereign,  laughing  at  our  calamity;  He  is 
our  loving,  sympathizing  Father,  who  grieves  that  He 
must  chasten  us — our  sympathizing  Redeemer,  who 
weeps  with  us  when  we  weep,  and  is  afflicted  in  all  our 
afflictions.  So,  then,  faith,  faith,  faith  in  this  living, 
personal  God,  is  our  stronghold  in  this  day,  when  but 
for  Him  we  should  be  swept  away  on  a  midnight  sea. 

^'  But  Faith  goes  sometimes  in  another  garb,  and 
with  another  name. 


^  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  131 

"  Perhaps  the  weeping  mothers  I  see  before  me 
know  it  best  when  it  is  called  love. 

^' Yes,  my  dear  friends,  ge:  love  into  your  hearts; 
a  new,  tender,  absorbing,  personal  love  to  Christ,  and 
see  if  He  does  not  become  more  to  you  in  His  gra- 
cious response  than  the  most  devoted  child,  yea,  than 
a  thousand  children  could  be.  If  I  could  see  this 
church  filled  with  ardent  lovers  of  my  Master,  as  the 
fruit  of  my  o^vn  share  in  our  calamity,  how  would  I 
sing  songs  in  this  house  of  my  pilgrimage ;  what  a 
small  price  have  I  paid  if  it  buys  you  this  freedom ! 

"Another  word  before  I  close. 

"  More  than  one  distracted  mother  has  been  racked 
with  needless  terror  about  the  possible  fate  of  the 
little  ones  who  have  gone  from  her  into  an  unknown 
future. 

"  Who  led  these  little  lambs  away  from  their  em- 
brace? The  king  of  terrors?  The  devil  and  his  an- 
gels ?  A  hundred  times.  No  !  They  went  away  in 
the  ai^ms  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  with  the  Redeemer 
who,  for  their  sakes,  once  knew  infancy  and  childhood 
as  helpless  as  theirs.  Never  were  they  so  safe,  so 
sheltered,  so  cared  for,  so  happy,  as  now.  They  are 
in  green  pastures  anxi  beside  still  waters ;  they  drink, 
earlier  than  we,  of  the  river  of  life ;  they  have  put  on 
immortality  before  mortality  had  saddened  or  crippled 
them.  We  fancy  that  they  are  dead  and  that  we  are 
alive  ;  nay,  it  is  we  who  die ;  it  is  they  who  have  be- 
gun to  live ! 


132  PEMAQUID, 

"  And  yet,  and  yet ! — we  are  human  beings  and  our 
hearts  are  rent  with  human  pain.  We  have  no  sub- 
lime power  to  give  up  our  children  because  it  is  well 
with  them. 

"  We  may  weep,  we  must  weep  over  the  vanished 
forms  of  our  beloved.  Yea,  as  long  as  we  tarry  on 
this  earth,  we  may  cherish  their  memories  in  a  sacred 
sorrow  with  which  no  stranger  may  intermeddle. 
And  we  shall  have  need  of  patience,  as  the  long  days 
come  and  go,  and  the  pangs  so  remorselessly  pulling 
at  our  heart-strings ;  but  oh,  my  brethren,  anything 
but  evil  questions  as  to  the  doings  of  our  Lord  !  " 

As  he  uttered  these  words  his  brave  soul  gave  way 
and  he  fell  back  in  a  fainting  fit.  Men  and  women 
wailed  aloud ;  the  old  deacon  and  the  doctor  were  in 
the  pulpit  in  a  minute,  and  when  he  revived  a  little 
they  and  the  sexton  and  another  man  carried  him  out 
through  the  people  all  standing  and  weeping. 

I  feel  greatly  condemned  at  the  way  I  have  taken 
grandma's  death. 

I  did  not  bear  my  sorrow  in  faith,  or  love,  or  pa- 
tience.    May  God  forgive  me ! 

MRS.  WOODFORD. 

We  have  not  yet  told  Mr.  Woodford  or  Juliet  how 
many  deaths  there  have  been  here.  They  are  not 
yet  strong  enough  to  bear  excitement. 

I  must  have  been  out  of  my  mind  when  I  sent  a 
request  for  the  prayers  of  the  church.     Of  course 


MRS.    WOODFORD.  133 

only  superstition  believes  in  such  absurdity.  Prayers 
were  offered  for  the  Strong  children,  but  they  died. 
In  fact,  prayers  were  offered  for  all  who  died.  Yet  it 
made  no  difference.  And  "  Old  Man  Boody,"  as 
they  call  him,  wouldn't  ask  for  prayers,  and  he  got 
wxll. 

I  said  all  this  to  Kezia,  who  took  great  offense,  as 
if  I  had  done  something  personally  obnoxious  to  her. 

"  You  and  me  never'll  agree  until  you  meet  with  a 
change,"  she  said. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  meeting  with  a  change?" 

"  What  everybody  means  that  uses  them  words.  I 
mean  till  youVe  had  a  change  of  heart.  And  Ruth's 
come  home  now,  and  I'm  a-going  back  to  mother. 
I  can  live  consistent  when  I'm  along  of  mother, 
'cause  she's  a  good,  pious  woman  that  believes  in 
prayin'  and  readin'  the  Bible  and  keepin'  the  Sabbath 
day." 

"  But,  Kezia,  we  can't  do  without  you.  Besides,  I 
certainly  do  not  aggravate  you  as  I  used  to  do." 

"No,  you  don't,  I'll  say  that  for  you.  But  the 
change  is  all  on  the  outside.  Your  heart  aint  a  mJte 
better  than  it  was  when  you  came  a-prowlin  'round 
the  poor  Squire,  and  courted  him  jest  to  git  a  home." 

"  But,  Kezia,"  I  said,  "  do  you  know  you  are  the 
most  intolerant  person  I  ever  met  ?  " 

"  If  I'm  intolerable,  what  makes  you  try  to  coax 
me  to  stay,  then?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  intolerable.    I  said  intolerant.    That 


134  PEMAQUID, 

means  that  you  insist  on  everybody's  looking  at 
things  exactly  as  you  do." 

*'  If  you  mean  things  in  the  Bible,  then  I  s'pose  I 
be  intolerable.  Mis'  Woodford,  she  brought  me  up 
from  a  child,  and  she  ground  the  truth  into  me,  as 
you  might  say.  And  I  can't  stand  it  to  live  with 
folks  that  despise  religion.  If  you'd  pave  my  kitchen 
with  yaller  gold,  and  then  come  into  it  to  sneer  at 
good  people,  I  wouldn't  stay  in  it  a  day.  I'm  a  poor, 
sinful  creetur,  but  I've  got  feelin's,  and  my  feelin's  is 
hurt  awful  when  you  say  you  don't  believe  in  prayin', 
because  that's  just  the  same  as  sayin'  you  don't  be- 
lieve in  God.  And  that  right  on  top  of  His  sparin' 
your  husband  and  your  girl !  Something  wuss  than 
having  'em  die  will  happen  to  one  or  both  on  'em  if 
you  make  light  of  the  mercy  that  healed  'em. 

"  O,  Mis'  Woodford,  I  did  hope  so  that  you'd  show 
some  gratitude  for  what  has  been  done  for  you  ! 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  no  harm,  and  I  wish  you 
well,  and  I'll  go  home,  and  me  and  mother  will  pray 
for  your  poor  soul  day  and  night.  You  don't  know 
what  you're  cheatin'  yourself  out  of,  but  we  do. 
And  I'm  awful  sorry  for  you ;  awful.  But  it's  my 
opinion  you'll  get  religion  yet." 

"  We'll  raise  your  wages  as  high  as  you  please ; 
only  stay.  I  have  had  no  peace  in  the  kitchen  since 
you  left." 

"  Do  you  think  to  stifle  my  conscience  with  wages? 
No,  no,  I  must  go  home  to  mother.    I  can't  stand  it  to 


MR,  AND  MRS.  STRONG  CONFER.       135 

hear  my  Lord  despised  and  His  prayin'  people  de- 
spised;  I  love  Him  a  hundred  times  more  than  you 
have  money;  and  I  love  them  that  love  Him  a  hun- 
dred times  more  than  you  love  that  girl  of  your'n. 
And  I  couldn't  stand  such  another  fight  with  the 
devil  as  I  had  when  I  left  here  before  ;  an'  I  wouldn't 
if  I  could." 

"  You  must  be  a  very  weak  Christian  if  you  are  so 
easily  tempted.'* 

"  So  I  be  !  I  never  pretended  I  wasn't.  I'm  as 
weak  in  my  soul  as  I'm  strong  in  my  body.  And  I'm 
a-goin*  home  to  mother." 

MR.  AND   MRS.   STRONG  CONFER  TOGETHER. 

"I've  been  thinking,  dear,  how  to  spend  the  time 
I  have  on  my  hands,  which  I  used  to  spend  on  our 
children.  And  it  has  come  to  me  that  now  we  can 
have  your  good  old  father  come  and  live  with  us. 
I  think  I  could  make  his  last  days  happy;  and,  be- 
sides, you  would  enjoy  having  him  here." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,  I  should.  Though  his 
preaching  days  are  over,  his  praying  days  are  not,  and 
he  would  bring  a  blessing  with  him." 

"You  and  I  could  move  up-stairs  and  give  him  our 
room.  I  think  I  should  like  to  move  up-stairs.  Not 
that  I  should  forget  the  children  any  more  there  than 
here  ;  but  it  would  be  a  trifle  easier  when  I  wake  in 
the  morning  to  be  in  a  different  room." 

"  He  could   not  bear  the  journey  in  this  severe 


136  PEMAQUID. 

weather.  We  shall  have  to  wait  until  spring.  But 
we  can  move  up-stairs,  my  dear  wife,  if  it  will  be  of 
the  least  relief  to  you." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  childish  in  me  to  wish  it.  Still,  I 
should  like  the  occupation  of  fitting  up  your  father's 
room  right  away.  There  is  a  chair  in  the  garret  I 
could  stuff  and  cover  for  him.  And  I  shall  think  of 
other  little  comforts.  There,  don't  look  at  me  as  if 
you  thought  I  was  an  angel.  I  am  doing  it  all  out 
of  selfishness,  because  I  must  have  something  to  do." 

"  Something  to  do,  when  you  have  my  whole  parish 
in  your  heart  and  on  your  shoulders  ?  Oh,  Faith, 
precious  little  wife,  how  merciful  was  God  when  He 
spared  you  to  me  !  " 

*' And  He  might  have  taken  you  from  me  !  Surely, 
goodness  and  mercy  have  followed  us  all  our  days  !  " 

MRS.  WOODFORD. 

Kezia  has  gone,  headstrong,  narrow-minded  creat- 
ure that  she  is !  And  as  to  finding  anybody  to  fill 
her  place,  it  is  simply  impossible.  Fortunately,  Mr. 
Woodford  and  Juliet  are  well  enough  now  to  take 
care  of  themselves,  and  Ruth  has  time  to  do  the 
work  our  ignorant  slattern  in  the  kitchen  is  incapable 
of. 

Juliet  is  in  the  state  people  are  apt  to  be  in  when 
recovering — peevish,  exacting,  and  unreasonable.  I 
thought  that  hearing  of  what  others  are  suffering  in 
this  village  might  tend  to  make  her  forget  herself.    I 


MRS.    WOODFORD.  137 

had  already  told  Mr.  Woodford  about  the  Strongs, 
and  now  told  her. 

I  ought  to  have  taken  the  precaution,  knowing 
how  thoughtless  she  is,  to  have  communicated  what 
I  had  to  say  in  Mr.  Woodford's  absence,  and  not  let 
her  appear  to  him  as  utterly  heartless  as  she  did. 

"■  Juliet,"  I  began,  "  you  make  more  ado  about  your 
little  physical  discomforts  than  poor  Mrs.  Strong  does 
about  her  terrible  affliction." 

*'  What  affliction  ?  " 

"  All  three  of  her  children  died  when  you  were  so 
sick." 

"  You  don't  say  so !  Well,  why  should  she  make 
an  ado  ?  They  were  all  little  things  !  And  they  had 
such  a  housefuU!  And  there  was  just  nothing  to 
bring  them  up  with.  Susan  Stone  says  that  one 
night,  when  Mrs.  Strong  was  sick,  her  mother  was 
there,  and  poured  out  tea  for  Mr.  Strong ;  and  he 
had  it  sweetened  with  molasses  !  " 

"  You  know  that  is  not  true,"  I  said,  seeing  Mr. 
Woodford  listening  from  behind  his  book.  "You 
know  better  than  to  repeat  such  nonsense." 

"  Indeed  it  is  true,"  she  maintained ;  *'  for  Mrs. 
Stone  was  pouring  in  the  molasses,  and  he  checked 
her,  saying,  '  That'll  do,  Mrs.  Stone,*  and  she  kept  on 
pouring  it  in,  saying,  *  Dear  me  !  if  it  was  all  molasses 
it  wouldn't  be  none  too  good  for  you  ! '  I  know  I  al- 
most died  a-laughing,  Susan  Stone  told  it  in  such  a 
droll  way." 


138  PEMAQUID. 

"There  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  that  story,"  said 
Mr.  Woodford,  taking  off  his  spectacles  and  looking 
as  severely  at  Juliet  as  he  knew  how.  "  The  more 
shame  to  the  parish  if  it  were.  You  misunderstood 
Susan  Stone." 

"  Well,  it  was  some  minister,  I  know,  and  I  thought 
it  was  Mr.  Strong.  It  doesn't  make  much  difference. 
All  ministers  are  poor.  I  would  not  marry  one  if  he 
was  the  last  man  on  earth.  And  Susan  Stone  said 
that  Father  Stephens  had  to  work  so  hard  on  his 
farm  to  make  out  a  living  that  before  he  went  to 
General  Conference  he  had  his  hands  poulticed  to 
take  off  the  tan  !  " 

Mr.  Woodford  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket-book 
and  began  to  write. 

With  my  mind's  eye  I  could  read  what  he  wrote. 
And  it  was  this,  or  something  like  it : 

"  Mem. — Send  six  loaves  loaf-sugar  to  Mr.  Strong. 

"Also,  one  half-barrel  brown  sugar. 

"  Send  Father  Stephens  money  to  hire  a  man.  He 
is  too  old  to  labor  with  his  hands. 

"  Make  inquiries  about  other  needy  ministers." 

Meanwhile  I  gave  Juliet  a  warning  look. 

"  It  jars  on  one  to  hear  you  giggling  so,  and  think- 
ing nothing  of  Mr.  Strong's  loss." 

''  I  suppose  she  will  think  it  a  loss.  For  my  part, 
I  should  imagine  she'd  be  glad  to  thin  out  a  little. 
How  she  used  to  dress  them !     She  had  to  sit  up  half 


MRS.    WOODFORD.  139 

the  night  to  do  her  sewing.  Faugh  !  before  I'd  marry 
a  minister!  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware,"  remarked  Mr.  Wood- 
ford, "  that  Frank  Weston  intends  to  study  theology 
as  soon  as  he  has  earned  the  means." 

JuHet  colored  high  with  surprise  and  incredulity. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  about  it ! "  she  cried.  "  I 
shall  just  ask  him  when  I  see  him  !  " 

I  gave  her  another  warning  look.  Ruth  came  in, 
bearing  a  tray  with  the  dinner  of  the  invalids. 

"  What  is  this  story  about  Frank  Weston's  study- 
ing theology?  Have/i??/  been  putting  him  up  to  it, 
Ruth  Woodford  ?  " 

"  I  ?  No,  indeed.  It  was  all  settled  before  he  came 
here." 

"  Oh,  you  are  in  his  secrets  then  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  of  it  as  a  secret.  It  was  frequently 
spoken  of  at  the  parsonage  as  an  uncferstood  thing." 

"  I  suppose  you  saw  a  great  deal  of  him  while  you 
were  at  the  parsonage  ?  " 

"  No,  very  little.     I  was  too  busy." 

I  said  I  had  been  telling  Juliet  about  the  children. 

"  Isn't  it  enough  to  break  one's  heart  to  think  of 
it  ?  "  said  Ruth.  *'  When  I  carried  them,  one  by  one, 
to  their  mother,  to  take  leave  of  them,  I  thought  she 
would  die." 

"  How  can  you  talk  about  such  horrid,  gloomy 
things  when  I  am  eating  my  dinner?  Talk  of  some- 
thing else.     How  did  Frank  appear?" 


140  PEMAQUID. 

"  Very  serious  and  sympathizing,"  Ruth  replied. 

"  Well,  now,  confess.  Should  you  have  stayed  at 
the  parsonage  a  whole  month  if  he  had  not  been 
there?" 

"  He  was  not  there.  They  would  not  let  him  stay 
lest  he  should  take  the  disease.  He  used  to  come 
three  times  a  day  to  know  how  they  all  were,  and 
some  one  would  open  a  window  and  tell  him." 

"  I  suppose  the  '  some  one  '  was  Ruth  Woodford." 

"  I  do  not  remember  going  to  the  window  once.  I 
almost  always  had  a  child  in  my  arms." 

^'  I  don't  see  why  he  does  not  call  to  sec  me  all 
this  time,"  continued  Juliet. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Ruth,  cordially.  *'  He  admires 
you  very  much." 

'*  I  doubt  if  he  is  in  the  mood  to  make  calls,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Woodford,  "  He  was  extremely  fond  of 
the  little  Strongs,  as  they  were  of  him." 

"  He  ought  to  go  out,  then,  and  divert  his  mind," 
said  Juliet. 

"  He  is  probably  diverting  it  in  his  closet,"  said 
Ruth. 

"Of  course  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Woodford.  "That  is, 
he  is  finding  his  solace  there.  It  is  the  only  place  in 
all  the  world  for  mourning  souls." 

"  Now  don't,  Pa  Woodford,"  quoth  Juliet.  "  I 
want  to  eat  my  dinner  in  peace.' 

Whereupon  he  subsided. 


MRS.   WOODFORD.  141 

I  only  hope  he  is  not  aware  that  she  calls  him 
**  Pa,"  in  derision. 

And  somehow  those  few  words  about  finding 
solace  in  prayer  have  clung  to  me,  and  I  can  not 
shake  them  off.  Sometimes  I  almost  wish  I  had 
been  born  and  brought  up  here  in  Pemaquid. 


XII. 

"  O  what  a  sight  were  man,  if  his  attire 
Did  alter  with  his  mind  ; 

And  if,  like  a  dolphin's  skin,  his  clothes  combined 
To  alter  with  his  mind  1 " 

— Herbert. 

FRANK  WESTON'S  SIDE  OF  THE   STORY. 

THERE  is  a  passage  in  the  Bible  to  this  effect: 
"  Unstable  as  waters,  thou  shalt  not  excel."  I 
am  beginning  to  think  these  words  describe  my  char- 
acter and  prophesy  my  future. 

When  I  came  to  Pemaquid  I  fully  intended  to  stay 
here  only  so  long  as  it  would  require  to  earn  suffi- 
cient to  carry  me  through  my  professional  studies. 
And  my  profession  was  to  be  that  of  a  minister. 

I  knew  that  if  I  chose  that,  I  must  renounce  a 
good  deal — all  chance  of  being  rich,  of  indulging  my 
love  of  ease,  of  gratifying  my  taste.  At  times  this 
seemed  hard.  At  other  times,  when  I  was  in  a  good 
frame,  for  example,  it  seemed  easy. 

Well,  I  came  here,  right  into  the  heart  of  a  rninis- 
ter's  family,  and  saw  his  life,  stripped  of  all  romance, 
just  as  it  was.  I  saw  him  overworked  and  under- 
paid. I  saw  him  toiling,  day  and  night,  not  merely 
042) 


FRANK  WESTON'S  OPINION.  143 

to  feed  the  souls  of  his  people,  but  to  feed  the  bodies 
of  his  wife  and  children.  What  little  his  people  paid 
him  they  paid  grudgingly  and  irregularly.  He  had  to 
be  all  things  to  all  men,  and  Mrs.  Strong  all  things 
to  all  women.  He  was  a  hewer  of  wood,  and  she  a 
drawer  of  water.  To  be  sure,  they  maintained  that 
it  was  a  most  blessed  life.  Neither  of  them  would 
own  that,  having  put  their  hand  to  the  plough, 
they  had  once  looked  back.  And  they  were  most 
eager  in  urging  me  to  carry  out  my  intention  to  enter 
the  ministry. 

On  the  other  hand,  with  a  tenth  of  the  labor  Mr. 
Strong  bestows  on  his  vineyard,  I  receive  in  mine 
twice  his  salary.  The  question,  then,  naturally  arises, 
Why  not  stay  where  you  are,  and  make  the  most  of 
the  bird  in  the  bush  ? 

During  six  days  out  of  seven  the  question  is  easily 
answered.  But  on  Sunday,  when  I  have  leisure  for 
reflection,  life  puts  on  a  new  aspect.  Sunday  says, 
in  one  voice  or  another,  that  no  man  liveth  to  him- 
self. It  rouses  and  shakes  me,  and  reminds  me  of 
vows  and  promises  made  upon  my  knees  to  God. 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  Sundays  are  gloomy 
days  to  me.  I  pass  them  in  vain  resolves,  and  a 
kind  of  stupid  remorse ;  Monday  sets  me  on  my  feet 
again,  and  by  Saturday  I  am  quite  disenthralled. 

This  pretty  little  village  does  not  offer  much  temp- 
tation to  worldliness.  The  people  of  Pemaquid  are 
a  staid,  church-going  people,  and  most  of  the  young 


144  PEMAQUID. 

folks  follow  in  the  way  they  should  go.  Yet  a  temp- 
tation has  met  me  even  here.  It  is  in  the  shape  of 
one  of  the  handsomest  girls  I  ever  saw.  She  is  tall 
and  commanding  in  figure,  and  her  eyes  are  magnifi- 
cent. She  is  the  best  educated  of  the  young  people 
here,  and  as  full  of  life  and  spirit  as  a  young  hunter. 

It  is  not  vanity  in  me  to  own  to  myself,  here  in 
secret,  that  she  thinks  equally  well  of  me.  We  have 
gradually  got  up  a  regular  flirtation.  Now  and  then 
my  conscience  gets  the  upper  hand  and  warns  me  to 
stay  away.  Mrs.  Strong,  who  can  not  endure  any 
one  who  does  not  belong  to  the  Church,  warns  me 
solemnly  against  her.  Then  I  force  myself  to  keep 
aloof  week  after  week ;  business  presses ;  I  have  en- 
gagements ;  all  sorts  of  excuses  can  be  got  up  in  an 
emergency.  Then  Juliet  gets  my  head  into  the 
noose  again.  I  rush  back  to  her  side,  and  things  are 
soon  on  their  old  footing.  Am  I  in  love  with 
this  beautiful  sinner? — for  a  sinner  she  is,  in  will,  at 
least. 

I  can  not  help  pitying  her,  and  her  mother  too. 
They  seem  so  out  of  place  in  that  stiff,  puritanical 
atmosphere  at  Mr.  Woodford's.  But  I  ought  to  be 
careful  what  I  say  about  him.  If  ever  there  was  a  man 
of  angelic  nature,  he  is  one.  Mrs.  Strong  says  so, 
and  she  knows  about  all  there  is  to  know  in  Pema- 
quid.  He  has  certainly  treated  me  with  great  gener- 
osity, but  he  treats  his  cat  and  his  dog  as  well,  or 
would  do  so  if  he  could. 


FRANK  WESTON'S  OPINION.  145 

Mrs.  Strong  is  fain  to  make  a  match  between  my- 
self and  a  certain  little  girl  of  his  whom  she  has  seen 
only  once  for  many  years.  I  can  imagine  what  sort 
of  a  commonplace  heroine  she  would  introduce  into 
my  life  !  Many  thanks  for  your  trouble  !  Meanwhile 
I  shall  choose  for  myself,  dear  madam. 

We  stand  jesting  on  the  very  threshold  of  impend- 
ing calamity !  While  I  was  writing  the  above,  this 
trio  of  lovely  little  children  was  being  signed  and 
sealed  for  eternity !  Ah  !  how  life  looks  in  the  pres- 
ence of  death ! 

To  go  back  to  the  beginning,  if  I  can  collect  my 
thoughts.  So  Mrs.  Strong's  little  paragon,  Ruth 
Woodford,  has  come  home.  She  is  the  quaintest, 
purest,  sweetest  little  rose-bud  of  a  Puritan  one  can 
imagine ! 

There  is  an  epidemic  prevailing  in  the  village,  and 
Mrs.  Strong  thought  that  she  and  the  children  were 
coming  down  with  it.  I  laughed  at  her,  but  called  at 
the  doctor's  on  my  way  to  the  Woodfords,  where  I 
spent  the  evening.  As  I  left,  Ruth  made  me  promise 
I  would  come  back  for  her  if  she  was  needed  at  the 
parsonage. 

I  went  back  for  her,  though  I  knew  they  were 
stricken  down  with  contagious  disease.  I  knew  she 
would  go,  if  it  cost  her  her  life. 

And  my  three  playfellows,  my  pride  and  delight, 
are  all  gone ! 


146  PEMAQUID. 

All  the  laughter  and  merriment,  all  sound  of  little 
voices,  the  pattering  of  little  feet,  forever  gone ! 

If  I  am  so  unmanned  that,  as  I  write,  I  am  crying 
like  a  boy,  what  is  this  grief  to  the  poor  father  and 
mother !  I  hardly  dare  to  go  nigh  them ;  such  sor- 
row as  theirs  is  too  sacred  to  be  looked  upon.  How 
much  they  are  beloved !  The  whole  parish  seems 
afflicted  with  them.  Is  not  such  devotion  and  sym- 
pathy as  this  better  than  money?  Suppose  a  fortune 
were  at  this  moment  offered  Mr.  Strong  in  exchange 
for  the  tears  and  kind  services  of  his  people  at  this 
awful  moment ! 

I  trust  that  from  this  hour  I  shall  be  another  man. 
I  will  dismiss  forever  my  worldly  ambition  and  sloth- 
fulness.  I  will  never  think  of  Juliet  but  as  the  merest 
acquaintance.  I  will,  as  soon  as  possible,  resume  my 
studies,  and  make  it  my  life-work  to  preach  that  Gos- 
pel which  offers  the  only  refuge  from  calamities  like 
these. 

I  find  Ruth  Woodford  quite  a  pleasant  little  friend. 
She  was  with  Mrs.  Strong  during  the  illness,  and  for 
some  time  after  the  death,  of  the  children,  and  likes 
to  hear  me  talk  of  them.  She  has,  certainly,  more 
heart  than  Juliet,  who  is  merry  at  my  seriousness. 
Though  there  have  been  so  many  deaths  here,  and 
she  has  been  herself  on  the  border  of  the  grave, 
there  is  no  getting  her  to  stop  to  think  one  minute. 

A  pretty  minister's  wife  she  would  be,  to  be  sure ! 


FRANK  WESTON'S  OPINION.  147 

I  find  it  will  be  more  prudent  to  remain  here  a  lit- 
tle longer.  I  never  shall  have  another  opportunity 
of  laying  up  a  penny  or  two,  and  a  year  more  or  less 
can  not  make  any  serious  difference  as  to  my  useful- 
ness. Indeed,  I  am  acquiring  an  experience  now  that 
will  be  of  great  service  to  me  hereafter.  It  would 
really  be  cruel  to  run  away  and  leave  the  Strongs  just 
now.  Mrs.  Strong  does  not  seem  to  know  what  to 
set  herself  about.  She  wanders  over  the  house  look- 
ing like  one  in  a  dream. 

I  am  so  indignant  I  can  hardly  contain  myself. 
That  jackanapes,  Josiah  Stone,  is  actually  making  up 
to  Ruth !  He  torments  her  v/ith  his  coarse  atten- 
tions. I  am  sure  that  pure-minded,  innocent  girl  can 
not  endure  them.  But  he  shall  never  have  her! 
Never!  Rather  than  see  her  his  victim,  I  would 
marry  her  myself.  How  different  she  and  Juliet  are ! 
She  has  a  quiet,  steady  cheerfulness  that  quite  rests 
one.  Juliet,  on  the  contrary,  with  her  bursts  of  mer- 
riment and  heights  of  passion,  almost  wears  one  out. 
Fortunately,  these  village  lads  are  all  afraid  of  her. 
Of  course,  now  that  I  have  decided  finally  on  the 
ministry,  I  must  be  on  my  guard  against  this  danger- 
ous beauty. 

I  hardly  know  how  it  has  come  about,  but  my 
good  angel  has  won  the  day.  After  not  a  few  strug- 
gles between  contending  inclinations — for  I  admire 


148  PEMAQUID. 

Juliet  exceedingly — I  have  at  last  proposed  to  Rutli. 
The  little  thing  was  easily  caught  and  caged.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Strong  are  delighted  with  my  choice ;  I 
have  not  seen  them  so  cordially  pleased  for  many  a 
long  month.  Mr.  Strong  says  a  worthy  attachment 
was  all  I  needed  to  settle  and  establish  my  character. 
He  says,  too,  that  there  is  no  reason  why  we  shouid 
not  be  married  before  I  complete  my  studies.  I 
have  now  quite  a  little  sum  on  hand,  and  Mr.  Wood- 
ford would  do  up  things  handsomely. 

Mr.  Woodford  is  not  so  enchanted  with  our  pro- 
posed union  as  we  are.  He  is  going  to  make  us  wait 
a  year  before  we  are  actually  engaged.  I  dare  say 
lie  is  right.  I  find  it  rather  a  relief  to  be  left  free 
yet  a  little  longer.  Not  that  I  expect  to  become 
weary  of  Ruth.  She  is  too  much  in  love  with  me 
for  that.  Why,  I  can  wind  her  round  my  finger 
already ! 

I  do  not  know  how  Juliet  will  feel  if  she  happens 
to  find  out  how  I  stand  toward  Ruth.  I  shall  have 
to  try  to  keep  her  in  ignorance,  though  that  will  be 
no  easy  matter,  I  imagine. 

MRS.   WOODFORD. 

I  am  extremely  puzzled  by  Frank  Weston's  be- 
havior toward  Juliet". 

He  treats  her  with  no  little  caprice.  After  paying 
her  every  attention  he  will  stay  away  for  weeks  to- 
gether, and  when  they  meet  after  such  an  interval  he 


MRS.    WOODFORD.  110 

treats  her  with  a  coolness  she  can  hardly  endure.  I 
feel  not  a  Httle  perplexed  and  annoyed  at  his  con- 
duct, which  I  can  not  understand.  Juliet  frets  and 
chafes,  and  vents  her  ill-humor  on  me.  I  have  not 
dared  to  tell  her  that  during  her  sickness  he  never 
came  once  to  inquire  for  her,  though  he  was  assidu- 
ous enough  in  solicitude  about  Mr.  Woodford. 

In  honor  of  her  present  restoration  to  health  I  gave 
a  small  tea-party,  gathering  all  the  young  folks  to- 
gether from  all  the  region  round  about  Pemaquid.  It 
passed  off  very  well,  only  at  half-past  nine  Mr. 
Woodford  would  have  prayers,  and  that  broke  up 
the  assembly,  of  course.  Frank  Weston  lingered  be- 
hind to  transact  some  business  with  Mr.  Woodford, 
ostensibly,  and  he  and  Juliet  fell  into  a  running  fire 
of  banter  and  fun  which  ended  in  her  inviting  him  to 
come  and  play  backgammon  with  her  to-morrow 
evening. 

Things  progress  quite  to  my  mind.  Frank  Weston 
is  here  on  every  possible  pretense  and  Juliet  is  per- 
fectly infatuated  about  him.  It  is  true  he  is  rather 
cool  for  a  lover,  but  such  joyous,  thoughtless  charac- 
ters as  his  are  not  usually  accompanied  with  much 
heart.  He  likes  Juliet  better  than  anybody  else  and 
she  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  that.  I  can  safely 
leave  her  to  play  her  own  cards.  She  is  perfectly 
capable  of  managing  her  affairs,  and  sooner  or  later, 
Mr.  Frank,  you  will  have  to  yield. 

Frank  has  spent  the  evening  here.    There  w^as  some 


150  PEMAQUID. 

jesting  allusion  made  to  Ruth's  want  of  education  by 
Juliet.  Frank  defended  Ruth  warmly.  He  said  it 
was  the  best  sort  of  education  for  a  woman  to  spend 
the  years  of  her  girlhood  as  Ruth  had  done. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said,  *'  all  the  wisdom  in  the  world 
will  not  make  a  woman  a  pleasant  companion.  I 
would  not  give  a  fig  for  your  learning,  except  as  it 
teaches  you  to  be  a  blessing  to  others." 

"  I  declare,  if  you  haven't  caught  the  real  Strong 
twang,"  cried  Juliet.  '^  You  prefer  sweet  simplicity 
and  ignorance  to  talents  and  accomplishments." 

*'  I  did  not  say  that,"  he  returned,  good-humoredly 
enough.  *'  All  I  meant  was  to  defend  poor  Ruth  : 
however,  I  dare  say  she  is  able  to  defend  herself." 

"  You  make  pretty  free,  it  seems  to  me,  sir !  "  said 
Juliet. 

He  smiled  and  looked  at  Ruth. 

''You  don't  care,  do  you?"  he  asked;  "I  can't 
make  myself  call  you  Miss.  I  have  been  used  so  long 
to  think  of  you  as  '  Ruth,'  and  nothing  more." 

She  looked  surprised. 

"Ah,  I  forget  that  you  do  not  know  how  often 
Mrs.  Strong  has  spoken  of  you.  You  must  revenge 
yourself  by  calling  me  Frank." 

"  I  will,''  she  said  quietly. 

Juliet  looked  extremely  annoyed,  but  had  sense 
enough  to  say  no  more. 

After  a  little  more  laughing  and  jesting  it  was 
agreed  that  Frank  should  come  every  evening,  except 


RUTH'S  JOURNAL.  151 

the  two  devoted  to  meetings,  and  give  and  receive 
lessons.  Juliet  was  to  teach  him  French  and  he  was 
to  instruct  her  in  Latin.  As  to  Ruth,  he  was  to 
teach  her  a  little  of  everything. 

Juliet  recovered  her  spirits  and  soon  they  were 
"Juliet"  and  ''Frank"  to  each  other. 

ruth's  journal. 

Mrs.  Strong  sent  for  me  to  spend  the  day  with  her. 
Frank  was  there  at  dinner  and  at  tea,  and  all  evening, 
and  was  ever  so  pleasant. 

Mrs.  Strong  says  he  likes  me ;  and  he  acts  as  if  he 
did.     But  I  tell  her  he  likes  Juliet  just  as  well. 

She  looked  troubled. 

"  I  fill  a  mother's  place  to  him,"  said  she,  "  while  he 
is  from  home.  And  he  has  been  open  and  frank  with 
me  always.  I  took  it  for  granted  he  liked  you  best. 
Why,  Juliet  is  a  most  unsuitable  person  for  a  minister's 
wife ! " 

My  heart  beat  so  I  was  afraid  she  would  hear  it.  I 
am  afraid  I  have  almost  forgotten  dear  grandma  and 
have  put  Frank  in  her  place.  I  am  afraid  I  want  him 
to  like  me  better  than  Juliet.  If  I  do  I  hope  God 
will  forgive  me  and  deliver  me  from  this  temptation. 

Frank  has  said  a  good  many  things  to  me  lately. 
He  says  he  likes  me  and  that  I  am  his  good  angel.  I 
tell  him  I  am  a  poor,  sinful  child,  and  not  worthy  to 
be  called  an  angel.     But  I  suppose  it  is  a  way  men 


152  FEMAQUID. 

have  of  talking,  and  that  they  don't  mean  much.  I 
am  getting  to  think  of  him  a  great  deal.  I  always 
know  whether  he  is  at  meeting  or  not.  I  pay  atten- 
tion to  all  he  says  to  Juliet.  Sometimes  I  am  afraid 
I  am  displeased  with  Juliet  for  hanging  round  him  so. 
The  next  time  he  comes  I  will  stay  up  here  in  my 
room  and  pray  for  a  better  frame  of  mind. 

Frank  walked  home  with  me  from  meeting  this 
evening.  And  he  said  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
be  a  minister ;  and  when  he  has  got  through  his 
studies  he  will  come  back  to  Pemaquid  for  his  little 
wife.     I  said  he  must  ask  father  first. 

But  of  course  father  will  only  be  pleased.  He  may 
not  think  I  am  good  enough  for  Frank,  or  that  I  am . 
fit  to  be  a  minister's  wife.  Indeed,  I  know  I  am  not. 
But  there  will  be  so  many  years  while  Frank  is  study- 
ing that  I  can  be  praying  to  God  to  make  me  worthy 
of  him  ;  though  if  I  should  pray  all  my  life  I  should 
never  be  so  good  as  Mrs.  Strong  is.  But  I  have  told 
Frank  that,  and  how  much  he'll  have  to  put  up  with. 

Frank 'and  I  went  together  to  ask  father.  He  did 
not  seem  so  pleased  as  I  expected  he  would.  He 
said  we  were  both  young  and  not  fit  to  judge  what 
was  best  for  us.  And  he  said  he  did  not  like  long 
engagements.  Frank  argued  with  him  a  good  deal, 
but   I   did  not  say  a  word.     At  last   father  said  he 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL,  153 

would  reflect  on  the  subject  and  let  us  know  in  a  few 
days  what  he  had  decided. 

After  Frank  had  gone,  father  looked  at  me  so 
kindly  and  said  : 

"  Do  you  really  love  him,  my  daughter?  " 

And  I  was  so  silly  I  just  burst  out  a-crying  and 
went  and  hid  in  his  arms. 

Mrs.  Strong  sent  for  me  this  afternoon,  and  she 
and  Mr.  Strong  both  said  they  were  so  pleased  with 
what  Frank  had  done.  Mrs.  Strong  said  it  had  been 
her  plan  all  along,  and  her  plans  always  turned  out 
so  nicely !  Father  had  been  there  to  talk  with  them 
about  it,  but  they  did  not  tell  me  what  he  said. 

Father  has  m.ade  up  his  mind  to  let  us  choose  for 
ourselves.  He  has  given  us  a  great  deal  of  good  ad- 
vice for  him,  for  he  is  not  in  the  habit  of  talking 
much.  He  says  he  should  prefer  not  to  have  it  an 
engagement,  but  to  have  us  wait  a  year  or  so  and  see 
if  our  minds  do  not  change.  I  know  mine  never  will. 
I  liked  Frank  the  first  time  I  saw  him.  But  perhaps 
when  he  goes  away  from  here  and  sees  other 
girls  he  may  wish  he  was  not  tied  to  me.  I  should 
not  blame  him  if  he  did.  But  it  would  break  my 
heart. 

Frank  says  vre  will  do  just  as  father  likes.  We 
won't  call  it  an  engagement  yet  avv-hile,  but  will  love 
each  other  just  the  same. 


154  PEMAQUID. 

It  seems  as  if  God  was  too  good  to  me  !  Perhaps  I 
think  more  of  having  Frank  to  love  because  I  haven't 
any  own  mother. 

We  have  not  told  any  one  yet.  Frank  says  it  is 
not  worth  while  as  it  is  not  a  real  engagement.  I 
wish,  though,  Josiah  Stone  knew  it,  because  he  worries 
me  by  following  me  about.  And  it  seems  as  if  Juliet 
ought  to  be  told,  too.  For  she  is  greatly  taken  up 
with  Frank,  and  might  get  to  liking  him  too  much. 

But  Frank  is  quite  earnest  to  have  nothing  said. 
He  says  father  knows  best,  and  we  ought  to  do  all 
we  can  to  please  him.     That  is  so  kind  in  Frank ! 

So  things  go  on  just  exactly  as  they  did  before. 
Juliet  laughs  and  jokes  with  him  as  much  as  ever,  and 
when  he  is  here  she  takes  him  all  to  herself,  and  I 
have  to  listen  to  Josiah  Stone.  I  shall  have  to  pray 
not  to  be  led  into  temptation  more  than  ever  now. 
Loving  Frank  has  made  me  so  selfish ! 


XIII. 

"  He  that  wavereth  is  like  a  wave  of  the  sea,  driven  by  the  wind, 
and  tossed." 

FRANK  WESTON. 

T  BEGIN  to  fear  I  was  a  little  hasty  in  proposing 
-■■  to  Ruth.  I  know  how  it  happened,  though.  I 
admired  the  self-sacrifice  with  which  she  devoted 
herself  to  the  Strongs,  and  then  I  was  greatly  shaken 
by  their  deaths,  which  awakened  slumbering  aspira- 
tions for  a  better  life.  And  to  a  man  In  such  a  mood, 
Ruth  was  most  congenial. 

But  my  moods  vary.  If  Ruth  influences  one  side 
of  my  character,  Juliet  influences  the  other.  Still,  I 
hope  I  shall  remain  faithful  to  Ruth,  for  she  has  power 
to  become  my  good  angel,  especially  if  I  enter  the 
ministry.  And  if  ever  there  was  a  girl  with  a  devil  in 
her,  it  is  Juliet.  There  is  nothing  to  which  she  would 
not  stoop. 

The  most  unlucky  thing  has  happened  !    Ruth  and 

the  rest  of  them  being  absent,  Juliet  drew  me  into 

playing  cards  with   the  Stones   and  their  set.     I  had 

about  made  up  my  mind  never  to  play  cards  again ; 

ClSo) 


156  PEMAQUID. 

Ruth  would  not  like  it,  and  it  would  not  look  well 
in  a  theological  student.  But  just  for  this  once  I 
yielded.  .  Juliet  not  appreciating  or  not  knowing  my 
scruples,  took  pains,  at  least  seemed  so,  to  betray  me 
to  Ruth.  The  poor,  dear  little  Puritan's  face  ex- 
pressed the  most  painful  horror  and  incredulity.  I 
never  thought  to  see  such  a  look  there. 

She  went  off  without  speaking  a  word,  and  I  can 
fancy  her  righteous  indignation.  I  could  not  help 
showing  some  uneasiness,  but  Juliet  declared  I  need 
not  be  concerned. 

"Her  fits  of  the  pouts  never  last  long,"  she  said, 
encouragingly. 

So  it  seems  that,  amiable  as  she  appears,  she  is 
subject  to  fits  of  being  quite  the  reverse.  After  all, 
what  have  I  done  that  I  need  be  so  annoyed  ?  Card- 
playing  is  not  in  itself  amiss.  I  do  not  know  of  a 
young  fellow  of  my  age  who  docs  not  play  if  he  can 
get  a  chance.  It  is  merely  the  association  with  worse 
things  that  makes  the  saints  shrug  their  shoulders 
and  pass  by  on  the  other  side.  Yet,  I  must  give  them 
up  if  I  study  theology,  as  well  as  some  other  little 
amusements  of  which  I  am  fond,  and  in  which  there 
is  not  the  least  harm  in  the  world.  Meanwhile,  why 
should  not  I  enjoy  myself  as  other  young  people  do  ? 
Ruth  will  see  how  reasonable  it  is  that  I  should  do 
so.  I  shall  talk  her  into  a  good  humor  to-morrow, 
and  that  pretty  little  face  of  hers  will  smile  on  me 
more  charmingly  than  ever. 


FRANK   WESTON.  157 

I  have  not  had  a  chance  to  see  Ruth  alone  yet.  It 
is  a  regular  nuisance  to  be  engaged,  yet  not  engaged. 
I  have  spent  every  evening  of  this  week  at  the  Wood- 
fords,  but  Juliet  has  been  at  home,  and  so  has  her 
mother,  and  Ruth  has  kept  as  steadily  at  work  as  if 
that  were  her  sole  business  on  earth.  I  can  not  say 
she  seems  in  the  least  vexed  with  me.  But  she  looks 
grieved  and  sorrowful,  and  as  if  something  had  gone 
out  of  her  life.  Poor  little  puss  !  Her  rigid,  Yankee 
training  has  come  within  an  ace  of  spoiling  her. 

At  last  I  have  prostrated  myself  before  my  little 
confessor.  She  has  forgiven  me,  and  we  are  on  the 
best  of  terms  again.  But  I  had  no  idea  the  child  had 
so  much  in  her.  Why,  her  sense  of  duty  is  like  a 
mountain  of  granite.  You  can  neither  undermine  it 
or  bore  through  it.  There  it  stands,  and  since  it  can 
not  be  moved  you  are  fain  to  move  yourself.  I  have 
promised  never,  never  to  play  cards  again  !  Well,  it 
is  only  to  antedate  the  day  of  sacrifice  and  yield  to 
her  what  I  must  soon  yield  to  public  opinion. 

Josiah  Stone,  that  great  lump  of  humanity,  has 
been  to  see  me  to-day.  The  interview  ought  to  be 
recorded  for  future  gratification. 

"  I  say,  Frank  Weston,"  he  began,  "  it's  time  you 
and  I  came  to  an  understanding." 

''Indeed!" 

"Yes,  it  is.  You  needn't  look  so  innocent.  You 
know  what  I  mean." 


158  PEMAQUID. 

,  I  profess  ignorance. 

"  Well,  see  here.  Are  you  courting  both  of  them 
girls  ?  And  if  you  aint,  which  one  of  'em  air  you 
courting?" 

''  I  really  am  not  aware  to  whom  you  refer,"  I  said, 
coolly. 

"  Well,  now,  you  stop  that.  What  girls  ?  Why, 
the  Woodford  girls,  of  course." 

"  I  was  not  aware  there  were  two  of  the  Wood- 
fords." 

''  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Frank  Weston,  you  have 
got  to  come  up  to  the  scratch,  and  'taint  no  use  to 
hang  back.  Come,  now.  Behave  reasonable.  Is  it 
Julfet  you  are  after,  or  is  it  Ruth?" 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and  fixed  my  eyes  medi- 
tatively on  the  ceiling. 

"  On  the  whole,"  I  said,  solemnly,  "  I  believe  it's 
both  of  them  !  " 

"  Very  well,  sir.  I  shall  give  you  the  trouble  to  say 
as  much  to  Mr.  Woodford !  "  He  got  up,  swelling 
his  plumes  till  he  looked  like  an  enormous  turkey- 
cock.  I  rose,  opened  the  door  to  its  fullest  extent, 
and  let  him  out.  Alas  !  for  thee,  oh  Josiah  !  the  days 
of  choking  and  stabbing  and  shooting  your  rival  are 
over.  It  is  only  in  books  that  such  romances  are  en- 
acted. 

This  evening  I  met  my  plucky  hero  at  the  house 
of  my  two  heroines.     Mr.  Woodford  sat  in  his  usual 


FRANK  WESTON.  ]59 

corner,  nodding  over  his  book.  Mrs.  Woodford,  pre- 
tending to  read,  swallowed  every  word  that  fell  from 
our  precious  young  lips.  I  made  myself  agreeable 
to  the  girls,  which  it  was  not  hard  to  do.  Juliet 
turned  her  back  upon  Josiah  and  forgot  that  he  was 
in  the  room.  Ruth,  after  a  few  attempts  at  civility, 
soon  did  the  same.  Without  meaning  to  wound  her, 
meaning  only  to  exasperate  Josiah,  I  flirted  desper- 
ately with  Juliet.  She  dared  me  at  last,  after  a  deal 
of  preliminary  nonsense,  to  kiss  her.  Though  we 
sat  apart,  and  talked  in  half-whispers,  I  saw  that 
Ruth  heard  all  that  passed.  Her  color  mounted,  the 
needle  trembled  and  quivered  in  her  fingers ;  yet  my 
evil  genius  led  me  on.  I  leaned  over  Juliet ;  she 
sprang  up,  laughing  and  defying  me ;  a  chair  was  up- 
set and  Ruth's  work-basket  thrown  down ;  I  rushed 
on,  caught  the  beautiful,  tempting  creature,  and  kiss- 
ed her ! 

Mr.  Woodford  took  off  his  spectacles,  looked  at  me 
a  full  minute,  and  rising,  said  : 

"Young  man,  you  have  been  drinking  !" 

''  I  told  you  so  !  "  cried  Josiah,  with  a  malignant 
laugh.  "  I  told  you  so  !  And  it  was  only  last  even- 
ing he  owned  he  was  courting  both  on  'em.  Court- 
ing Juliet  and  courting  Ruth  !  " 

I  had  come  to  my  senses  by  this  time.  There  was 
only  one  thing  to  do,  and  that  I  did. 

"  Mr.  Woodford,"  I  said,  ''  I  can  not  wonder  that 
you  are  shocked  at  my  behavior.     I  assure  you  I  am 


160  PEMAQUID. 

shocked  myself.  I  was  led  from  step  to  step  till  I  was 
guilty  of  unpardonable  rudeness.  I  owe  you  an 
apology  for  it,  as  I  do  to  every  one  present." 

Well,  there  is  tremendous  power  in  good  looks  and 
in  agreeable  manners.  My  frank,  boyish,"  penitent 
way  went  straight  to  all  their  hearts  (except  Josiah's, 
of  course.  He  has  none).  I  went  up  to  Mr.  Wood- 
ford, whose  displeasure  had  begun  to  relax. 

"Forgive  me  this,  my  first  offense,"  I  said.  "It 
was  done  in  boyish  frolic ;  I  meant  no  disrespect  to 
you,  sir.  And  I  assure  you  that  I  was  intoxicated 
with  folly,  not  with  wine." 

"  I  believe  you,  Frank,"  he  said.  "  You  have  a 
good,  honest  eye  of  your  own,  that  is  not  afraid  to 
meet  mine.  But  let  me  tell  you,  young  man,  that  I 
will  not  overlook  such  shameless  conduct  in  my  house 
again.  Juliet,  you  were  in  fault  also.  I  hope  you  in- 
tend to  follow  Frank's  example  and  apologize  for  it." 

"  Pooh  !  what  a  fuss  about  nothing  !  "  cried  she. 
"  Young  folks  must  have  a  little  fun.  You  can't  ex- 
pect us  to  sit  each  in  a  corner  with  our  hands  folded 
in  our  laps.  However,  I  owe  Frank  an  apology,  and 
here  it  is  ! "  So  saying,  she  marched  up  to  me  and 
boxed  my  ears  soundly. 

Mrs.  Woodford  looked  frightened,  and  drew  Juliet 
out  of  the  room.  Josiah  stood  his  ground  during  a 
few  minutes'  unpleasant  silence,  which  was  at  last 
broken  by  Mr.  Woodford's  saying,  gravely : 

"  It  is  after  nine,  Josiah." 


FRANK  WESTON.  161 

On  this  hint  Joslah  took  his  departure. 

I  looked  now  at  Ruth.  She  still  sat  at  the  table 
with  her  work  in  her  hands,  but  her  tears  were  falling 
fast. 

I  approached  her  timidly. 

"  Ruth,"  I  said,  "  are  you  very  angry  with  me?  " 

"  Not  angry,''  she  said. 

"You  surely  do  not  believe  what  that  wretched 
fellow  has  been  saying.  Indeed,  Ruth,  I  was  only 
trying  to  punish  him  for  thinking  of  you.  Dear  Ruth, 
say  you  forgive  me  !  You  know  I  never,  never  will 
be  guilty  of  such  folly  and  rudeness  again." 

''  Frank,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  steadily,  "  do  you 
think  it  is  right  to  try  to  make  Juliet  like  you  so  ? 
Don't  think  I  aint  willing  you  should  like  her.  But 
you  are  so —  so —  " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  I  said.  "  I  have  behaved  abomina- 
bly. I  would  give  my  right  hand  to  take  it  all  back. 
After  this  I  will  not  come  here  any  more.  You  must 
meet  me  at  Mrs.  Strongi's." 

"Oh,  ?/d7,"  she  said.  "But,  Frank — you  mustn't 
mind  my  speaking  of  it — wouldn't  it  be  better  for 
you  to  go  right  away  into  the  seminary  ?  You  have 
got  into  such  a  habit  of  joking  and  frolicking  w^ith 
Juliet,  that  I  don't  believe  you  can  change  your  ways 
now.  The  best  plan  is  to  go  away  where  you  won't 
be  tempted." 

"  Ruth,  my  daughter,"  said  Mr.  Woodford,  from 
his  remote  corner,  "  it  is  getting  late.     You  ought  to 


162  PEMAQUID. 

be  in  bed.  I  wish  to  have  a  word  with  Frank  before 
he  goes." 

Ruth  rose  and  said  good-night.  Her  poor  Httle 
hand  was  cold  as  ice  when  she  took  leave  of  me, 
though  her  cheeks  glowed  like  a  furnace. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  speaking  to  you  for  some 
time,  Frank,"  Mr.  Woodford  began.  ''  Let  us  come 
to  an  understanding  now,  once  for  all.  Do  you  still 
love  my  daughter?" 

I  declared  that  I  did. 

"And  you  still  mean  to  become  a  minister?" 

I  said  yes. 

*'  Then  why  are  you  not  at  your  studies?  Several 
months  have  passed  since  you  declared  that  you 
meant  to  enter  the  seminary  at  once." 

"  Yes  ;  I  remember.  But,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I 
have  waited  and  waited  from  a  sense  of  unfitness  for 
such  a  position  as  that  of  a  minister  of  the  Gospel.  I 
am  naturally  gay  and  impulsive  ;  what  I  aim  to  be 
on  one  day,  I  fail  to  be  on  the  next.  I  assure  you,  I 
pass  many  an  hour  of  shame  and  remorse  ;  sometimes 
I  am  tempted  to  throw  up  the  whole  project  and  de- 
vote myself  to  business." 

"  It  is  a  temptation  of  Satan,"  he  said,  impress- 
ively. 

"  But  if  I  fail,  if  I  fall,  if  I  sin,  the  scandal  would  be 
very  great." 

"You  have  no  right  to  such  ifs.  You  have  no 
right  to  fall  or  to  sin." 


FRANK   WESTON.  163 

I  said  a  young  fellow  of  my  temperament  had  pe- 
culiar difficulties  to  contend  with. 

"  And  you  can  have  very  peculiar  help  in  the  time 
of  need.  But  let  me  tell  you  what  you  lack.  You 
lack  that  warm,  fervent  love  to  Christ  that  breaks 
down  all  obstacles  and  conquers  all  difficulties. 
Without  this  love  you  are  not  fit  to  be  a  minister. 
But  then  you  are  not  fit  for  anything  else.  You  see 
you  can  not  get  rid  of  responsibility  by  merely  es- 
caping the  ministry.  If  you  choose  to  be  a  man  of 
business,  you  still  must  live  to  Christ.  Ah,  we  can't 
escape  responsibility,  not  one  of  us. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be  hard  on  you,"  he  began  again. 
"  If  I  have  been,  I  hope  you'll  overlook  it.  But 
when  you  go  home  get  down  on  your  knees,  open 
your  Bible  before  you,  and  read  and  pray  at  once. 
You  can't  do  it  without  getting  light,  sooner  or  later. 
Ah,  it's  a  blessed  thing  to  pray.  Think,  now :  a 
poor,  ignorant,  sinful  man  may  get  down  on  his 
knees  and  speak  to  God !  That  seems  almost  hard 
to  believe,  doesn't  it?" 

The  clock  struck  ten. 

I  came  home  completely  sobered  and  saddened. 
What  a  reckless,  good-for-nothing  fellow  I  am! 
Why  can't  I  get  anchored  somewhere,  instead  of  drift- 
ing about  in  this  style  ?  As  to  my  behavior  this 
evening,  I  can  never  think  of  it  without  a  blush.  It 
was  partly  Juliet's  fault,  however.  She  led  me  on 
from  step  to  step  till  I  was  mad  v/ith  folly.     I  wish  I 


164  PEMAQUID. 

had  never  seen  her.  I  wish  I  had  never  set  foot  in 
Pemaquid.  I  have  a  good  mind  to  leave  it  to-mor- 
row, and  start  afresh  in  some  place  where  I  am  not 
known.  But,  after  all,  what  have  I  done  ?  Nothing 
so  very  terrible,  I  am  sure.  Who,  in  my  place,  would 
not  have  kissed  a  pretty  girl  who  dared  him  to  do  it  ? 
The  bother  is  their  all  seeing  it,  and  the  disrespect  to 
Mr.  Woodford,  good  old  man  !  Well,  if  I  were  half 
as  good  as  he  is,  I  would  enter  the  pulpit  with  a 
rush,  and  carry -all  before  me.  Oh,  for  some  power, 
outside  of  myself,  to  force  me  to  the  manner  of  life  I 
ought  to  lead  !  I  hope  that  little  saint  of  mine  prays 
for  me  now  and  then. 

I  have  had  a  talk  with  Mr.  Strong  in  reference  to 
my  future.  He  asked  me  what  led  me  to  think  of 
the  ministry.  I  told  him  my  mother  made  me 
promise  to  enter  it  on  her  dying  bed. 

"Was  this  promise  made  with  no  qualifications?" 
he  asked,  with  some  surprise. 

I  said  there  was  a  qualification.  I  was  to  enter 
the  ministry  if  called  to  it  by  the  Spirit.  And  in  the 
tenderness  of  feeling  consequent  on  her  death  I 
thought  I  had  such  a  call.  But  repeatedly,  since 
that  time,  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil  have 
been  too  much  for  me,  and  I  often  question  whether 
I  have  not  mistaken  my  vocation. 

"  Whatever  your  vocation,  you  can  not  escape  re- 
sponsibility." 


FRANK   WESTON.  1G5 

"  That  is  exactly  what  Mr.  Woodford  says,  ^^^ell, 
now,  Mr.  Strong,  pray  counsel  me.  What  would  you 
do  in  my  case  ?  " 

He  smiled. 

"  What  did  I  do  in  my  own  case  ?  "  he  asked. 

''  Oh,  but  you  are  ver>^  different  from  me.  You 
can  have  had  none  of  my  temptations.  Your  tem- 
perament is  wholly  unlike  mine.  You  never  can 
have  been  so  eager  for  pleasure  as  I  have." 

"  You  know  not  what  you  say.  Does  not  Luther 
tell  us  that  temptation  helps  to  form  a  divine?  And 
do  you  suppose  that  when  Satan  sees  men  prepare  to 
do  aggressive  work  in  his  kingdom  he  sits  down  and 
folds  his  hands?  No,  Frank,  no.  You  have  put 
your  hand  to  the  plough  ;  do  not  look  back.  Throw 
away  your  boyishness  and  become  a  man.  Live  for 
Christ.  Work  for  Christ.  Spend  and  be  spent  for 
Christ.     If  need  be,  suffer  with  and  for  Christ." 

I  was  greatly  moved  and  stimulated. 

I  will  live  for  Christ,  cost  what  it  may. 


XIV. 


"The  superfluous  spirits  of  youth  are  like  the  coverings  of  some 
insects,  which  afford  them  food  and  support  in  their  transi- 
tion." 

MRS.  WOODFORD. 


W 


E  had  the  most  disgraceful  scene  here  last  night ! 
I  am  perfectly  ashamed  of  Juliet,  and  not  a 
little  vexed  with  Frank.  What  does  he  mean  by  his 
conduct?  He  keeps  Juliet  in  a  continual  state  of 
excitement.  I  am  afraid  that,  as  agreeable  as  he  is, 
his  wavering,  unstable  character  offers  her  little 
chance  of  happiness.  If  such  a  thing  were  possible 
I  should  say  he  Avas  in  love  with  both  these  girls, 
their  opposite  natures  suiting  his  contradictory 
moods,  the  one  consoling  and  attracting  when  the 
other  wearies  him.  I  will  not  let  things  go  on  in  this 
style  much  longer.  He  must  be  made  to  do  one  thing 
or  the  other.  Juliet's  nerves  can  not  endure  this 
strain  on  them ;  she  will  be  doing  some  more  fool- 
hardy thing  than  she  did  last  night. 

Ruth  is  a  little  inclined  to  mope.     It  is  something 
new  to  see  her  listless  and  idle.     Mrs.  Strong  keeps 

sending  for  her,  but  she  will  not  go.     If  there  were 
(1G6) 


MRS.    WOODFORD.  167 

not  sick  children  all  about  the  village  I  do  not  think 
she  would  stir  out-of-doors. 

Mr.  Woodford  has  just  told  me  the  most  extraor- 
dinary thing!  He  says  Ruth  is  virtually  engaged  to 
Frank  !  He  has  not  given  his  full  consent,  but  it  will 
amount  to  that  in  the  end.  He  is  not  the  man  to 
thwart  his  only  daughter. 

I  must  let  Juliet  know  at  once  what  to  expect. 
She  little  dreams  to  what  a  two-sided  fellow  she  has 
given  her  affections.  He  is  most  unworthy  of  her. 
What  right  has  he  to  come  here,  week  after  week, 
and  to  pay  her  the  most  devoted  attentions,  when  he 
knows  he  is  hazarding  her  happiness  forever  ? 

If  there  is  in  this  world  one  spot  where  the  weary 
can  find  rest,  how  gladly  would  I  flee  to  it  !  I 
dread  the  burst  of  passion  to  which  Juliet  will  give 
way  when  I  break  this  news  to  her.  Who,  more  than 
myself,  has  reason  to  shudder  at  the  thought  of  see- 
ing such  a  character  as  hers  the  sport  of  disappoint- 
ment ! 

I  went  to  Juliet's  room,  after  many  an  hour  of  dis- 
mal delay,  and  found  her  dressing  for  the  evening. 
Her  magnificent  hair  was  flowing  all  over  her  shoul- 
ders.    I  have  never  seen  her  look  more  beautiful. 

"Juliet,"  I  began,  *' are  there  any  of  your  old 
school-mates  whom  you  would  like  to  visit  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  indifferently. 
"  There's  Lizzie  Hunter — I  like  her  pretty  well ;  we 


168  PEMAQUID. 

used  to  be  great  cronies  at  school.  But  she  never 
asked  me  to  make  her  a  visit." 

"  What  has  become  of  Harriet  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Hat  Boon  ?  Yes,  she  did  beg  and  beseech  me 
to  come  and  see  her,  and  I  said  I  would.  But  I  am 
in  no  hurry  about  it.     I  father  think  I  can  wait." 

''  But  I  particularly  wish  you  to  have  a  little 
change  of  air  and  scene." 

She  turned  round  from  the  glass  and  faced  me. 

"  Mother,  I  do  wish  when  you've  got  a  thing  to 
say  you'd  say  it,  and  done  with  it.  If  there's  any- 
thing I  hate  it's  beating  about  the  bush." 

"Very. well,  then.  This  is  what  I  have  to  say: 
Frank  is  engaged  to  Ruth,  and  has  been  I  do  not 
know  how  long." 

She  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?  "  cried  she. 

"Oh,  if  you  can  take  it  so  coolly,  nothing  at  all.  I 
fancied  you  might  feel  that  you  had  an  equal  claim 
to  him  with  Ruth." 

"  Equal !  "  she  cried,  "  I  have  ten  times  the  claim  ) 
But  that  is  nothing.  Let  me  alone,  mother.  I  know 
what  I  am  about.  I  have  told  you  twenty  times 
that  I  can  manage  my  affairs  to  suit  myself.  What 
if  he  is  engaged  to  Ruth  ?  He  is  not  married  to  her, 
I  suppose?" 

"  As  good  as  married,"  I  answered  dryly — for  her 
imperious  manner  displeased  me. 

"  Come,  now,"  she  continued,  beginning  to  braid 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  169 

up  her  hair,  "  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  if  it  will  make 
you  feel  any  better  in  your  mind.  I'm  going  to  give 
F.  W.  plenty  of  line,  and  let  him  play  out  in  deep 
water  if  he  likes.  He  and  Ruth  can  have  the  sea  all 
to  themselves  for  aught  I  care.  I  can  afford  to  wait. 
But  all  of  a  sudden  I  shall  draw  in  my  line,  and  then 
you'll  see  what  you  will  see  !  " 

"  Well  ?  "  I  said,  uneasily. 

"  Well,  I  shall  catch  him  at  the  right  moment,  and 
carry  him  off  in  triumph.  Then  good-bye  forever  to 
the  land  of  Pemaquid." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  You  needn't  shake  your  head,  it  isn't  worth  the 
trouble.     I  shall  be  Mrs.  F.  W.  whenever  I  please." 


ruth's  journal. 

Father  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Strong  and  I  have  all 
been  beseeching  Frank  to  go  away  from  here,  where 
his  temptations  are  very  great.  He  can  not  come  to 
our  house  any  more,  unless  he  is  prepared  to  break 
his  engagement  with  me.  I  have  quite  made  up  my 
mind  to  that,  even  if  it  kills  me  to  see  him  no  more. 
Oh,  how  much  better  off  I  was  when  I  lived  with 
grandma,  reading  good  books  to  her,  hearing  her 
heavenly  conversation  and  prayers  ! 

I    think   father  would  be  glad  to  have  Frank  go 

away  and  never  come  back.     He  forgets  how  young 

people  feel. 
8 


170  PEMAQUID. 

He  says  forgiving  a  man  is  one  thing  and  marrying 
him  Is  another. 

I  do  not  know  what  to  make  of  Juliet.  She  is  In 
such  spirits,  and  Is  pleasant  to  every  one,  even  to 
me. 

It  is  plain  enough  that  I  have  not  now  the  sweet 
peace  I  had  about  the  time  grandma  died,  and  after- 
ward. I  have  been  too  taken  up  with  Frank.  But 
he  was  so  different  from  me,  so  well  educated,  so  full 
of  his  fun,  so  bright  and  wide-awake,  and  then,  at 
times,  showing  such  a  warm,  strong,  real  heart.  How 
he  loved  those  little  children  !  How  tender  and 
solemn  he  was  after  they  died  !  How  hard  he  tried 
to  be  a  better  man  ! 

Since  I  wrote  that  I  have  had  a  beautiful  letter 
from  Frank,  In  which  he  says  he  has  decided  to  study 
theology  with  Dr.  Robertson,  Instead  of  going  to  the 
seminary.  He  says  he  has  sown  all  his  wild  oats,  and 
is  going  to  study  very  hard,  and  try,  by  prayer  and 
meditation,  to  become  a  godly  and  useful  man. 

I  knew  he  would  come  out  all  right,  and  wrote  and 
told  him  so. 

I  have  had  another  letter,  entreating  me  to  meet 
him  at  the  parsonage.  I  shall  not  do  that.  Her  father's 
house  is  the  place  v/here  a  young  woman  should  see 
her — friend. 

Why  doesn't  he  go?     He  said  he  was  on  the  wing. 


FRANK'S  JOURNAL.  171 

He  writes  again,  and  says  he  can  not  go  witnout 
seeing  me. 

It  is  hard  for  both  of  us.  If  I  could  persuade  Juliet 
to  stay  in  her  room  just  one  evening!  But  there  is 
no  use  in  trying. 

It  is  two  weeks  since  Frank  promised  to  go,  and 
he  is  still  here.  My  father  is  much  displeased.  But 
Frank  says  if  he  can  have  one  interview  with  me  he 
really  will  go. 

Juliet  had  such  a  raging  toothache  that  she  was  in 
bed  all  day.  I  suppose  father  notified  Frank  that  he 
could  see  me  undisturbed,  and  he  came.  He  made 
all  sorts  of  protestations  and  promises,  and  said  he 
should  be  only  too  thankful  to  get  out  of  Juliet's 
way.  He  said  he  should  write  to  me  often,  and  that 
I  must  write  as  often  as  I  could  to  him. 

We  agreed  not  to  let  Juliet  know  where  he  was 
going  or  when. 

And  at  last  he  has  gone. 

Mrs.  Strong  has  been  very  kind  and  sympathizing. 
She  says  she  loves  Frank  warmly,  and  believes  he  will 
become  a  good  and  useful  man. 

FRANK'S  JOURNAL. 
It  is  a  year  since  I  left  Pemaquid — a  year  of  hard 
work  under  a  very  austere,  but  most  worthy  man. 


172  FEMAQUID. 

Last  evening,  after  a  day  of  unusual  fatigue,  I  was 
lazily  turning  over  letters  that  had  come  from  differ- 
ent directions,  when  I  found  among  them  this  card  : 

MISS  WOODFORD, 

Pemaquid. 
with  a  city  address  appended. 

I  was  on  my  feet  in  a  moment.  Had  my  good 
angel,  my  little  loving  girl,  so  heartily  forgiven  me  as 
to  take  this  long  journey  to  see  me  once  more?  I 
bounded  down-stairs  and  into  the  street.  In  ten 
minutes  I  had  reached  the  house  indicated,  and  sent 
in  my  name.  Was  there  any  doubt  now  as  to  who  I 
loved  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  ?  The  door  opened, 
I  sprang  forward  with  a  face  all  aglow  with  delight, 
when  lo !  Juliet,  not  Ruth,  stood  before  me ! 

*'  Your  humble  servant,  sir ! "  she  cried,  dropping 
me  a  profound  courtesy. 

"You  have  deceived  me  cruelly,"  I  said  as  soon  as 
I  could  speak. 

"  Indeed  ?     And  how,  pray  ?  " 

"  By  beguiling  me  here  under  false  pretenses,  under 
a  false  name  !  " 

"  As  to  that,"  she  returned,  ''  I  have  gone  by  the 
name  of  Woodford  for  years.  And  so  you  are  not 
glad  to  see  me  after  this  long  journey?  " 

I  began,  indeed,  to  find  great  pleasure  in  seeing  her. 
Of  course  a  man  deep  in  theological  study  is  in  no 
danger  of  being  tempted  by  such  a  girl  as  this. 


J^RANK  'S  JO  URNAL.  173 

So  we  began  a  lively  conversation,  in  which  we 
were  joined  by  her  hostess,  a  young  lady  to  whom  I 
was  introduced  as  "  Hat  Boon." 

It  was  quite  late  when  I  rose  to  go. 

"There  are  no  gentlemen  in  this  family,"  said 
Juliet,  "and  we  hope  to  find  you  sei'viceable  as  an 
escort.  To-morrow  being  Sunday,  we  should  like  to 
go  to  church  where  we  can  hear  fine  music." 

I  saw  no  harm  in  this,  and  promised  to  be  on  hand 
at  an  early  hour  the  next  evening,  excusing  myself 
for  the  day,  not  daring  to  face  the  temptation  of  the 
thoroughly  worldly  conversation  I  should  have  to  en- 
gage in. 

On  reaching  the  house  I  found  both  ladies  equipped 
for  the  walk. 

"You  have  asked  nothing  about  Ruth,"  said  Juliet. 
"  She  is  quite  well,  and  sends  you  this  token  of  her 
affectionate  remembrance." 

Whereupon  she  presented  me  with  as  vulgar  a  piece 
of  handiwork  in  the  way  of  a  picture  it  was  ever  my 
misfortune  to  see.  It  was  made  of  cloves,  allspice, 
beans,  corn,  watermelon'  seeds,  and  I  know  not 
what. 

I  felt  myself  blush  all  over.  Was  a  girl  capable 
of  such  crude  folly  to  be  my  future  wife  ?  Was  my 
house  to  be  made  hideous  by  similar  performances? 

"  It  is  trying  for  you,"  said  Juliet.  "  But  what 
could  you  expect  ?  " 

"  I  expect  some  germs  of  refinement  in  her,"  I  re- 


174  PEMAQUID. 

plied  hotly.  "  Why,  such  a  gift  as  this  would  insult 
a  ploughman ! " 

"  I  was  afraid  it  would  annoy  you,  but  Ruth  would 
make  me  bring  it." 

Greatly  ruffled,  and  giving  the  thing  a  kick  as  I 
passed  it,  where  it  stood  leaning  against  a  chair,  I 
took  the  young  ladies  to  a  fashionable  church,  where 
they  may  have  heard  music ;  I  heard  only  discord. 
The  next  day  I  received  a  letter  from  Ruth,  saying 
she  had  availed  herself  of  an  opportunity  to  send  me 
a  specimen  of  her  own  workmanship,  with  which  she 
hoped  I  would  be  pleased.  I  wrote  and  acknowledged 
the  gift,  but  in  an  ungracious  way.  In  one  sense  it 
was  a  little  thing,  but  so  are  mosquitoes,  and  they 
sting. 

One  stormy  evening  when  I  called  upon  Juliet,  she 
said  that  they  were  expecting  a  few  friends,  and  hoped 
I  would  join  them  in  a  game  of  cards. 

I  declined,  remembering  my  promise  to  Ruth.  Be- 
sides, I  knew  Dr.  Robertson  would  disapprove  of  a 
theological  student  of  his  engaging  in  an  amusement 
universally  abandoned  by  the  religious  world. 

''But  just  this  once,"  Juliet  pleaded;  "just  to  help 
make  up  the  party." 

I  yielded,  just  for  once.  I  played,  and  lost ;  tried 
to  retrieve  my  losses;  plunged  in  deeper;  at  last,  at 
a  late  hour,  went  home  ashamed  and  provoked 


R  UTH'S  JO  URNAL.  1 75 

ruth's  journal. 

Juliet  said  she  was  going  to  visit  her  friend,  Miss 
Boon,  and  that  as  she  lived  only  twenty  miles  from 
where  Frank  is  studying,  she  was  sure  if  I  sent  him 
a  present  of  some  sort  she  could  get  it  conveyed  that 
short  distance  to  him. 

"  But  how  came  you  to  know  where  he  is  ?  "  I  ask- 
ed, in  great  surprise. 

"  Why,  you  did  not  really  suppose  he  would  keep 
me  in  ignorance  of  his  whereabouts,  did  you  ?  Such 
good  friends  as  we  are  not  to  correspond  ? " 

I  was  so  hurt  at  such  duplicity  on  Frank's  part  that 
I  could  hardly  keep  from  crying. 

But  I  had  been  at  work  all  winter  on  a  set  of  fine 
linen  collars  for  him,  and  this  opportunity  of  sending 
them  to  him  was  too  good  to  lose.  So  I  made  them 
up  into  a  neat  little  bundle  which  I  delivered  into 
Juliet's  hands. 

I  did  not  hear  from  Frank  very  soon,  but  when  his 
letter  came,  it  was  so  plain  that  he  was  not  pleased 
with  my  gift,  that  I  was  cut  to  the  heart.  The  linen 
was  very  fine  ;  I  am  esteemed  a  good  needle-woman ; 
what  could  annoy  him  so? 

I  wrote  and  begged  him  to  tell  me  what  I  had  done 
to  vex  him. 

He  replied  that  he  was  not  vexed,  but  that  he 
trusted  I  would  spare  him  any  more  specimens  of  my 
work,  as  it  looked  more  like  that  of  a  lunatic  than 
that  of  a  sane  woman. 


176  PEMAQUID. 

I  don't  believe  any  girl  could  have  helped  crying 
at  that ! 

Then  I  could  not  help  going  and  telling  Mrs. 
Strong  about  it. 

She  sat  and  meditated  a  long  time  in  silence. 

Then  she  said  : 

*'  I  have  two  theories  about  this  matter.  Either 
Juliet  has  substituted  some  vulgar  piece  of  finery  for 
your  delicately-stitched  collars,  or  the  wrong  parcel 
was  accidentally  sent  him." 

This  relieved  me.  I  wrote  at  once  to  Frank,  sug- 
gesting that  there  had  been  some  strange  mistake 
made  by  the  carrier. 

He  replied  that  this  was  not  possible,  as  Juliet  had 
delivered  it  to  him  with  her  own  hands. 

O!  O!  Juliet  is  there,  then! 


XV. 

'*  One  dupe  is  as  impossible  as  one  twin." 
MRS.     STRONG     TO     FRANK     WESTON. 

IV  TY  Dear  Frank  :  You  must  not  blame  our  dear 
^^^  little  Ruth  for  coming  to  me  in  her  trouble,  or 
blame  me  for  pleading  her  cause.  My  own  sorrows 
bring  home  to  me  the  griefs  of  other  hearts.  I  am 
almost  glad  that  I  have  suffered,  because  I  have 
learned  to  feel  tender  sympathy  with  all  who  need  it. 
I  need  not  tell  you  how  I  love  Ruth,  or  why.  I 
never  can  forget  her  generous  devotion  to  my  chil- 
dren, or  ever  cease  admiring  her  pure,  upright  char- 
acter. And  as  you  well  know,  I  love  you  also,  Frank, 
and  earnestly  desire  your  best  good.  And  that  you 
are  now  living  as  no  Christian  man  should  I  am  quite 
sure.  Your  own  good  sense  tells  you  that  Juliet 
Pickett  can  never  be  anything  but  a  temptation  to 
you.  It  is  true  she  has  a  certain  attraction  for  you 
that  flatters  your  vanity,  and  her  great  physical  beau- 
ty attracts  your  worst  side.  But  what  a  companion 
would  she  be  to  you  when  you  become  an  ambassa- 
dor for  Christ !  You  may  reply  that  you  have  no  in- 
tention of  making  her  your  wife,  being,  virtually,  en- 
8*  CITT) 


178  PEMAQUID. 

gaged  to  Ruth.  But  you  know  that  Juliet  intends,  if 
possible,  to  marry  you,  and  there  is  nothing  to  which 
she  would  not  stoop  in  pursuit  of  this  end.  I  suspect 
she  has  already  created  some  coolness  on  your  part 
toward  Ruth.  May  I  ask  you  what  she  put  into  your 
hands  as  a  gift  from  that  innocent  child  ? 

In  conclusion,  I  entreat  you  to  arise  and  be  a 
man.  You  have  chosen  the  ministry  of  Jesus  Christ 
as  your  profession ;  it  is  the  best  work  in  which  a 
human  being  can  engage.  Let  nothing  make  you 
false  to  Him. 

Yours,  affectionately  desirous  of  you, 

Faith  Strong. 


FRANK  WESTON'S   REPLY. 

Dear  Mrs.  Strong:  Your  letter  has  perhaps 
saved  a  foolish  boy  from  a  fatal  mistake.  I  send 
you,  with  this,  the  gift  Ruth  conveyed  to  me  by  Ju- 
liet's own  hands,  and  you  must  judge  for  me  if,  on  re- 
ceiving it,  I  did  well  to  be  angry.  You  know  I  am  a 
good-natured  fellow,  and  that  it  is  a  rare  thing  with 
me  to  lose  my  temper.  But  the  idea  of  spending  my 
liie  with  a  girl  capable  of  anything  so  vulgar,  jarred 
upon  me  and  Juliet  took  advantage  of  this  mood, 
and  led  me  on,  from  step  to  step,  till  I  came  near 
losing  faith  in  God,  faith  in  myself,  faith  in  Ruth, 
and  plunging  into  the  pleasures  that  have,  foi  .r. 
such  attractions.     Pray  for  me,  I  entreat  you,  that  I 


FRANK 'S  JO  URNAL.  179 

may  win  in  this  conflict,  and  believe  at  much  as  you 
can  in  your  wayward  boy,  Frank. 

MRS.   strong's   reply. 

How  could  you  so  misjudge  our  delicate  little 
Ruth  ?  The  '  picture  '  was  made  by  a  crazy  woman 
who  is  supported  by  our  parish ;  she  sent  it  to  Mr. 
Strong  as  a  New  Year's  gift,  in  great  pride  and 
pomp ;  it  was  a  source  of  innocent  amusement  for  a 
time,  then  tossed  aside  and  forgotten.  The  malig- 
nity that  led  Juliet  to  pass  it  off  on  you  as  Ruth's 
workmanship  is  too  dreadful.  I  shall  lose  all  re- 
spect for  you  if  you  ever  allow  that  wicked,  heartless 
girl  to  cause  Ruth  to  suffer  as  she  has  done  during 
the  last  six  weeks.  Once  more  I  ask  you  to  rouse 
yourself  and  be  a  man.     Yes,  a  true  man  in  Christ 

Jesus. 

Your  sincere  friend, 

Faith  Strong. 

Frank's  journal. 

How  a  foul  fiend  could  dwell  in  so  beautiful  a  form 
as  Juliet's  I  can  not  imagine !  As  soon  as  I  learned 
the  trick  she  had  played  me — credulous  fool  that  I 
was ! — I  flew  to  upbraid  her  for  her  infamous  deed. 

She  burst  out  laughing  and  declared  it  was  a  mere 
joke,  and  produced  a  dainty  little  parcel,  which,  she 
said,  she  was  only  reserv-ing  for  the  right  moment. 

I  told  her  she  need  expect  no  more  visits  from  5ne 


180  PEMAQUID. 

She  said  of  course  not,  as  she  was  going  home  as 
quickly  as  possible  to  tell  Ruth  about  my  goings  on. 
That  startled  me.  Ruth  must  not  know — at  least 
not  through  Juliet. 

"  A  pretty  budget  of  news  I  shall  have  for  the 
child,"  she  went  on.  "  Her  pious  Frank  neglecting 
his  studies  to  go  hither  and  thither  and  yon.  A  card 
party  one  night,  the  theatre  the  next,  oyster  suppers, 
wine,  dancing— Oh,  what  fun  I  shall  have  !  " 

"  Juliet,  it  will  break  the  child's  heart." 

"You  should  have  thought  of  that." 

"  And  what  do  you  expect  to  gain  ?  " 

"  I  expect  to  gain  you,  sir.  You  have  as  good  as 
told  me  that  you  enjoy  my  society  more  than  Ruth's; 
you  have  shown  that  you  do  by  the  way  you  have 
followed  me  round,  and  by  plunging  into  every 
worldly  amusement  I  have  suggested.  You  will 
never  become  a  minister.  You  will  never  marry 
Ruth.     You  are  not  good  enough  for  either." 

"We  shall  see,"  I  said.  "  Meantime  do  not  let  us 
part  as  enemies.  Promise  me  that  you  will  not  be- 
tray my  follies  to  Ruth.  The  past  six  weeks  have 
been  an  episode  in  my  life  of  which  I  am  ashamed. 
I  am  going  now  to  return  to  my  studies  like  a  man." 

"  I  shall  make  no  promises,"  she  said.  "  My  con- 
duct will  be  guided  by  yours.  If  you  continue  to 
make  love  to  Ruth,  I  shall  find  it  my  duty  to  unmask 
you  to  her." 

"  Very  well.     Since  you   defy  me,   I  defy  you.     I 


MRS.    WOODFORD.  181 

shall  confess  everything  to  Ruth  and  she  will  forgive 
me.  A  more  long-suffering  being  does  not  exist  on 
earth." 

She  looked  at  me  with  the  angry  gleam  of  a  demon 
in  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  I  bowed  myself  out. 

ruth's  journal. 

Frank  has  been  here.  He  went  first  to  father  and 
made  the  most  humble  confession  to  him,  won  his 
heart  by  it,  and  then  came  and  told  me  everything. 
I  think  there  is  great  excuse  fqr  him.  Juliet  makes 
almost  all  men  admire  her,  and  Frank  can't  help 
being  pleased  at  her  giving  them  all  up  for  him.  And 
if  I  thought  she  would  make  him  happy,  and  help 
him  to  be  a  good  man,  I  would  retire  and  leave  the 
field  to  her.  But  it  would  end  in  his  ruin.  I  said  I 
would  take  for  my  motto :  "  Give  and  forgive."  So 
I  must  give  Frank  a  good  deal  more  love  than  he 
does  me,  and  do  it  cheerfully.  And  I  must  forgive 
him  the  pain  he  has  caused  me,  and  do  it  generously. 
But  I  have  talked  to  him  very  seriously  and  plainly 
about  his  duty  to  God.  It  is  a  small  thing  to  have 
him  wrong  me  in  comparison  with  his  wronging  his 
own  soul  and  sinning  against  God.  And  I  had  set 
myself  up  so  high,  like  a  silly  child  as  I  was  ! 

MRS     WOODFORD. 

Frank  has  taken  our  breath  away  by  sweeping  in 
upon   us   like   a   tempest.      Something   serious    has 


182  FEMAQUID. 

brought  him  here,  I  am  sure,  but  what  it  is  I  do  not 
know.  I  am  afraid  Juliet  has  been  making  mischief 
between  him  and  Ruth.  I  am  sorry  for  both  girls. 
One  of  them  must  be  disappointed,  and  Ruth  would 
bear  such  a  trial  far  better  than  Juliet  would.  How- 
ever, it  will  be  so  long  before  he  can  marry  either, 
that  I  need  not  trouble  myself  so  very  much  about 
the  matter.  Juliet  may  meet  some  one  she  can  like 
better,  or  twenty  things  could  happen.  Besides,  I 
begin  to  feel  that  it  would  be  painful  to  part  with 
Ruth  for  her  own  sake.  She  seems  to  be  everybody's 
right  hand.  Her  father  needs  her  to  read  to  him, 
now  that  his  eyes  begin  to  fail  him,  and  she  is  his 
greatest  comfort  in  every  way.  Juliet  needs  her  as 
hair-dresser,  waiting-maid,  and  general  aid  in  all 
dilemmas.  As  for  me,  I  really  believe  I  am  at- 
tached to  the  child.  Her  unvarying,  sweet  good- 
humor  is  such  a  refuge  from  Juliet's  pert  and  irritable 
ways  ;  she  is  so  useful  about  the  house,  so  neat  and 
thorough  with  her  needle — in  short,  such  a  dear, 
stupid,  innocent  little  thing,  that  it  would  be  a  posi- 
tive shame  to  let  her  go  and  leave  us.  Besides,  she 
is  not  a  suitable  person  for  Frank.  He  needs  a  firm 
hand  to  control  and  guide  him.  His  flexible  nature 
absolutely  requires  the  influence  of  a  forcible  one.  I 
will  find  out  what  Mr.  Woodford  thinks  on  the  sub- 
ject, if  possible. 

I  said  to  Mr.  Woodford,  in  a  tone  that    implied 
that  I  knew  all  about  it : 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  183 

"What  a  pity  that  Ruth  should  be  kept  on  pins 
and  needles  by  Frank.  Would  it  not  be  better  to 
break  this  half-engagement  before  she  is  quite  worn 
out?" 

He  looked  thoughtfully  into  the  fire,  took  the 
tongs  and  arranged  the  burning  brands  with  delibera- 
tion, and  was  silent. 

"  It  goes  against  me  to  stand  in  the  child's  way," 
he  said,  at  last.     "  I  hope  I  shall  be  directed." 

And,  of  course,  he  took  up  his  candle  and  went  for 
"  direction  "  to  that  dismal,  cold  room  of  his. 

I  wish  he  would  take  counsel  of  me  instead.  The 
matter  is  simple,  and  I  could  manage  it  with  ease. 

By  the  by,  as  Juliet  is  now  of  age,  I  have  trans- 
ferred the  money  in  the  bank  to  her  and  prepared  a 
second  note  to  her,  apprising  her  of  the  fact.  This  I 
shall  conceal,  but  in  case  of  my  death  it  w^ill  be  found 
among  my  papers.  This  takes  a  burden  off  my  mind. 
My  increasing  respect  and  affection  for  my  husband 
make  me  dread  more  and  more  the  danger  of  becom- 
ing degraded  in  his  eyes.  If  Juliet  could  only  make 
a  splendid  match,  I  might  transfer  this  sum  to  him, 
passing  myself  off  thus  for  a  prudent  wife.  Still  I 
am  tired  of  deception  and  almost  wish  I  had  been 
born  and  brought  up  in  Pemaquid.  Better  austerity 
than  undue  laxity. 

ruth's  journal. 
I   have  been  spending  the  day  at  Mrs.  Strong's, 
helping  her  quilt.      She   treats   old    Father  Strong 


184  PEMAQUID. 

beautifully.  But  I  don't  wonder,  he  is  such  a  dear 
old  man.  He  told  me  to-day,  as  I  sat  at  the  quilting- 
frame,  a  great  deal  about  the  beginning  of  his  minis- 
try, sixty-five  years  ago.  He  was  minister  over  one 
church  sixty-three  years.  When  he  first  went  to  it 
the  country  was  little  more  than  one  great  forest,  full 
of  savage  Indians  and  fierce  wolves.  This  seems  hard 
for  a  man  who  had  been  educated  at  Harvard  College. 
But  everybody  was  used  to  hardship  in  those  days. 
At  one  time  the  Indians  carried  off  eight  women  and 
two  children.  This  caused  great  fear  and  trembling, 
no  one  knowing  whose  turn  would  come  next.  They 
were  especially  cruel  to  children  and  aged  persons 
whom  they  took  captive.  If  an  infant  became 
troublesome  its  brains  were  dashed  out.  Feeble  old 
men  and  tender  women  were  driven  like  cattle  over 
mountains,  through  swamps,  through  the  snow  in 
v/inter  and  the  heat  in  summer.  The  people  were 
kept  in  a  very  serious  and  godly  state  of  mind  by 
means  of  these  calamities,  and  they  were  resolved  to 
keep  their  community  free  from  vice,  so  if  a  bad  family 
came  to  settle  among  them  it  was  warned  away.  They 
agreed  to  build  Mr.  Strong  a  house — he  was  not 
Father  Strong  then,  of  course — and  they  cut  down  the 
timber  in  cold  weather  and  drew  it  to  a  three-acre  lot 
and  helped  clear  it,  so  that  he  could  partly  support 
himself.  That  same  year  there  was  a  great  earth- 
quake, which  so  frightened  the  people  that  a  revival 
of  religion  took  place.     The  next  year  he  lost  his 


^  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  185 

cattle,  as  did  many  others,  ovv'Ing  to  scarcity  of  hay 
and  deep  snow.  Then  a  wolf  came  and  killed  three 
of  his  sheep.  About  that  time  Quakerism  began  to 
spread,  and  the  churches  in  all  that  region  kept  days 
of  fastings  and  prayer  on  account  of  it. 

Soon  after  this  he  was  married  to  a  thrifty  wife, 
who  knew  how  to  use  a  gun  in  case  the  Indians  sur- 
prised her. 

In  the  year  1745  Mr.  Whitefield  came  to  preach  at 
Falmouth.  There  was  a  large  party  opposed  to  him, 
and  the  whole  parish  was  in  a  buzz  about  it.  Mr. 
Strong  heard  him  preach  twice.  Soon  after  this  they 
had  a  visitation  of  worms  that  w^ere  fain  to  eat  up 
every  green  thing.  The  Church  fasted  and  prayed 
about  it.  The  Indians  becoming  bolder,  another  day 
was  spent  in  fasting  and  prayer,  and  the  Government . 
offered  a  bounty  for  every  scalp  brought  in.  On  some 
Sundays  there  Vv'ould  be  hardly  any  one  at  meeting, 
through  fear  of  the  Indians.  And  at  times  every- 
body suffered  from  scarcity  of  food.  On  one  of  these 
occasions  Mr.  Strong  persuaded  a  man  and  a  boy  to 
go  out  with  him  to  shoot  pigeons.  It  v/as  running  a 
great  risk,  but  the  people  were  suffering  and  he  was 
not  afraid.  They  brought  home  ten  dozen,  which 
caused  great  rejoicing. 

At  the  time  of  the  great  earthquake  at  Lisbon  there 
were  two  or  three  shocks  in  his  parish,  and  a  day  of 
fasting  and  prayer  was  had.  Of  course  they  did  not 
hear  of  the  one  at  Lisbon  till  a  long  time  afterward. 


186  PEMAQUID. 

About  a  year  after  that  there  was  such  a  fall  of  snow 
that  nobody  could  possibly  get  to  meeting.  The 
Selectmen  ordered  everybody  who  owned  horses  or 
oxen  to  go  out  and  break  the  roads.  The  next  sum- 
mer Mr.  Strong  had  such  a  harvest  of  cherries  and 
currants  that  he  supplied  more  than  a  hundred 
women  and  some  men. 

Then  came  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  July 
4,  1776.  He  lived  under  the  reign  of  four  sovereigns 
— Queen  Anne,  George  I.,  George  II.,  and  George  III. 
— and  to  see  his  country  pass  from  a  monarchy  into 
freedom  and  independence.  Not  a  soul  that  composed 
his  first  flock  is  now  living  ;  he  has  survived  them  all. 

I  asked  him  if  he  could  suggest  any  reason  why 
his  life  had  been  so  prolonged.  He  said  he  had  been 
strengthened  by  his  early  hardships,  and  had,  besides, 
always  been  a  temperate  man,  and  that  he  observed 
many  days  of  each  year  in  private  fasting  and  prayer, 
in  no  wise  a  detriment  to  his  health,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, he  had  no  doubt  it  had  been  a  blessing  to  him, 
keeping  him  down,  mortifying  the  flesh,  and  giving 
him  such  sacred  and  blessed  communion  with  God  as 
kept  his  mind  at  peace  amid  all  the  incursions  of  In- 
dians, the  horrors  of  war,  the  death  of  his  wife  and 
children,  and  of  friends  nearly  as  dear.  I  have  not 
put  down  half  the  things  he  told  me.  Think  of  his 
condescension  in  trying  to  entertain  a  young  maid 
like  me  !  And  now  he  is  everybody's  father,  and  will 
never  be  called  "  Mr."  any  more. 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  187 

Mrs.  Strong  says  she  should  not  wonder  If  he  lived 
to  be  a  hundred.  People  here  in  Pemaquid,  unless 
they  die  young,  are  apt  to  live  to  be  from  eighty  to 
one  hundred  years  old,  especially  if  they  are  pious 
people  and  live  in  that  communion  with  God  that 
hinders  inordinate  grief  and  makes  a  great  sweetness 
come  into  the  hardest  lot. 

Oh,  if  my  poor  Frank  were  like  this  good  man, 
whose  heart  was  fixed  upon  God  in  his  youth,  and 
who  has  been  a  valiant  soldier  of  the  Cross  through 
such  a  steadfast,  holy  life,  and  is  now  enjoying  a 
peaceful  old  age  ! 

And  if  I  were,  in  my  day  and  generation  and  ac- 
cording to  my  measure,  as  faithful  to  God,  should  I 
not  carry  Frank  with  me,  and  inspire  him  with  my 
own  devotion  ?  Ah,  I  must  get  the  beam  out  of  my 
own  eye  before  I  undertake  to  meddle  with  the  mote 
in  his ! 


XVI. 

"  It's  all  fuss,  fuss,  and  stew,  stew  till  you  get  somewhere,  and 
then  it's  fuss,  fuss,  and  stew,  stew  to  get  back  again  ;  jump 
here  and  scratch  your  eyes  out,  and  jump  there  and  scratch 
'em  in  again — that  'are  life." — Mrs.  Stowe. 

KEZIA   GETS  ANOTHER   LETTER   FROxM    PEMAQUID. 

"  TT  beats  all,  mother,  the  knevvs  I've  got  !  I'm  all 
-L  of  a  toss  when  I  think  of  it.  They  say  that  spark 
of  our  Ruth's  has  undertook  to  spark  her  and  Juliet 
both  to  once,  and  the  Squire  was  that  put  out  that 
he  forbid  him  the  house.  And  finally  they  got  him  to 
go  away  and  study  geology  (as  near  as  I  can  make  it 
out)  ;  anyway,  to  learn  to  be  a  minister.  And  Juliet's 
foUered  him,  and  made  a  mess  between  him  and  our 
Ruth ;  and  what  with  mails  bein'  so  scarce,  and  mis- 
understandings bein'  hard  to  clear  up  in  writin*, 
there's  no  end  to  the  trouble.  It's  jist  like  droppin' 
a  stitch  in  a  stockin' — it'll  run  clear  down  the  whole 
leg  afore  you  know  it.  And  they  say  our  Ruth  is 
gettin'  so  peaked  you  wouldn't  hardly  know  her !  I 
declare,  I'd  like  to  send  that  'ere  Juliet  and  her  spark 
to  sea  in  a  bowl !  What  ?  They'd  get  drownded  ? 
Of  course  they  would  get  drownded,  and  serve  them 

right,  too !  " 

(188) 


FRANK 'S  JO  URNAL.  189 

Sings : 

Ho,  Mister  Spark,  I  will  engage 
To  send  you  on  a  pilgrimage 
Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean  wide. 
With  Juliet  Pickett  at  your  side. 
Jump  in,  jump  in.  the  bowl  is  cracked, 
And  very  shortly  you'll  be  wracked  ; 
Repentance  then  will  be  too  late, 
And  you  will  sink  and  meet  your  fate  ; 
There'll  be  no  gravestone  at  your  head, 
You'll  spark  no  more  when  you  are  dead ! 

FRANK'S  JOURNAL. 
It  is  rather  hard  upon  me,  that,  accustomed  as  I 
have  been  all  my  life  to  find  favor  in  everybody's  eyes, 
I  am  now  held  in  disfavor  by  them  all.  Ruth  has 
behaved  like  an  angel ;  but  she  can't  conceal  that, 
whereas  she  looked  up  to  me  as  a  superior  being,  she 
has  greatly  fallen  off  in  respect,  and  consequently  also 
in  affection,  for  me.  Then  the  Squire  would  be  thank- 
ful if  I  never  darkened  his  doors  again.  Mrs.  Wood- 
ford eyes  me  with  suspicion,  and  Mrs.  Strong  is  no 
longer  the  hearty  friend  she  was  when  I  lived  under 
her  roof,  and  loved  her  and  the  children  so.  As  to 
Juliet,  she  is  now  my  downright  enemy,  and  it  is 
quite  possible  she  wrote  the  anonymous  letter  to  Dr. 
Robertson,  containing  the  full  list  of  my  enormities. 
At  any  rate,  he  knows  how  I  have  wasted  my  time 
and  money,  what  a  self-indulgent  fellow  I  am,  how 
mad  I  am  after  pleasure,  and  has  read  me  such  a  lec- 
ture as   I   never  want  to  endure  again.     He  says  he 


190  PEMAQUID. 

will  overlook  my  follies  this  once,  but  never  again, 
and  that  he  is  very  doubtful  whether  a  man  of  so 
little  strength  of  character  has  any  right  to  enter  the 
ministry.  On  the  other  hand,  he  says  my  address  is 
very  winning,  and  would  stand  me  in  stead  as  a 
pastor,  as  my  love  for  children  and  my  strong  sym- 
pathies would,  and  that  to  preach  Christ  is  the  most 
favored  lot  on  earth,  and  warns  me  solemnly  to  make 
full  proof  of  my  call  to  it.  He  has  dealt  with  me  as 
a  father  deals  with  a  prodigal  son,  and,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Ruth  and  her  father,  has  been,  amid  much 
severity,  kinder  than  any  of  my  other  friends.  I  owe 
him  something  for  this.  At  the  same  time  I  shrink 
from  the  austerities  of  a  clerical  life  as  I  used  to 
shrink,  as  a  child,  from  a  cold  bath. 

I  suppose  Juliet  has  gone  back  to  Pemaquid,  but 
do  not  know. 

JULIET  TO  "hat"  boon. 
Dear  Hat  :  1  took  your  advice,  and  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Dr.  Robertson,  setting  forth  the  unfit- 
ness of  F.  W.  to  become  a  minister,  and  mailed  it  on 
my  way  home.  It  will  reveal  the  young  man  as  he 
really  is ;  he  will  be  obliged  to  relinquish  the  idea  of 
a  profession  for  which  he  is  just  about  as  fit  as  I  am  : 
and  when  that  is  once  done  I  shall  have  him  in  my 
power.  Pa  Woodford  will  never  let  Ruth  marry  him 
if  he  is  disgraced  by  such  a  man  as  Dr.  Robertson  ; 
I  am  sure  of  that.  Keep  your  eye  upon  him  if  you 
can,  and  let  me  know  what  he  is  about. 


JULIET  TO  ''HAT''  BOON.  191 

While  I  was  gone,  Miss  Ruth  contrived  to  worm 
her  way  into  my  mother's  heart ;  or,  at  least,  into  the 
place  where  there  ought  to  be  one. 

A  horrid  old  man  has  come  to  Pemaquid  to  live — 
Mr.  Strong's  father — and  she  pretends  she  likes  to 
have  him  there,  and  Ruth  pretends  she  loves  him. 
The  other  day  I  had  to  go  to  the  parsonage  to  bor- 
row a  pattern  mother  wanted,  and  Mrs.  Strong  spent 
fully  half  an  hour  looking  for  it,  so  as  to  give  this 
canting  old  creature  a  chance  to  'labor*  with  me 
about  my  sins  !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  imperti- 
nence ?  I  was  so  angry  that  I  could  hardly  keep  my 
seat.  I  have  had  plenty  of  hints  before,  from  all 
sorts  of  people  here,  but  never  anything  equal  to 
this.  I  hate  him  !  What  business  has  he  to  meddle 
with  me  ?  And  then,  when  he  could  see  as  plain  as 
day  how  provoked  I  was,  he  said  : 

*  Very  well,  my  poor  child.  I  thought  you  would 
take  a  kind  word  from  an  aged  man,  as  kindly  as  it 
was  spoken.  Most  young  people  do.  I  shall  pity 
and  pray  for  you  as  long  as  I  live.* 

Why  should  he  pity  me  ?  I  am  young,  and  well, 
and  strong,  and  handsome  ;  what  is  there  pitiful  about 
that,  and  why  should  he  pray  for  me  ?  Horrors  !  he'll 
be  calling  down  fire  and  brimstone  on  my  devoted 
head  !  Such  everlasting  prayers  as  these  people  keep 
up  !  How  thankful  I  shall  be  when  F.  W.  and  I  turn 
our  backs  upon  Pemaquid  forever! 


192  PEMAQUID. 

FRANK  WESTON'S  JOURNAL. 

There  has  been  a  great  outpouring  of  the  Spirit 
here,  and,  thanks  be  to  a  merciful  God,  I  have  had  a 
share  in  the  blessing.  I  have  renewed  my  vows  to 
Him,  have  sought  and  found  His  pardon,  and  will 
consecrate  myself  to  His  service,  as  a  minister  of  the 
Gospel,  with  a  joyful  heart.  How  hath  my  soul  es- 
caped as  out  of  the  snare  of  the  fowler!  I  tremble 
when  I  think  of  the  lengths  into  which  that  beautiful, 
but  unprincipled,  girl  led  me,  and  wonder,  in  deep 
penitence  of  heart,  why  God  did  not  say,  ^'  Ephraim 
is  joined  to  his  idols ;  let  him  alone."  Ah  !  I  am  so 
weak  that  all  I  need  for  my  ruin  is  to  be  thus  let 
alone.  As  I  reviewed  my  past  life,  the  pangs  of  hell 
gat  hold  upon  me,  and  I  could  only  cry  out,  ''  O 
Lord,  I  beseech  Thee,  deliver  my  soul ! "  No  earth- 
ly pleasure,  however  sweet,  can  compensate  for  such 
anguish  and  remorse  as  I  have  endured. 

My  poor  little  Ruth !  How  I  have  troubled  the 
depths  of  her  heart !  I  am  sure  that  my  infidelity  to 
her  God  and  Saviour  has  given  her  more  pain  than  my 
•wavering  toward  herself.  As  soon  as  I  get  through 
my  studies  I  will  seek  some  primitive  little  Pemaquid, 
•where  I  can  preach  the  Gospel,  and  where  my  be- 
loved wife  and  I  shall  go  hand  in  hand  in  the  work 
of  the  ministry,  rear  our  children  in  the  fear  of  God, 
and  live  to  have  them  rise  up  to  call  us  blessed. 

I  must  write  to  her  now. 


MES.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  193 

ruth's  journal. 

I  have  had  a  delightful  letter  from  my  dear — friend. 
It  was  full  of  love  to  God,  love  to  His  people,  love 
of  His  service,  and  love  to  me !  It  has  made  me 
very  happy.  I  read  a  little,  a  very  little,  of  it  to  Mrs. 
Strong ;  but  it  did  not  please  her  as  much  as  it  did 
me.  She  said  he  was  evidently  deeply  moved,  for  the 
time,  but  that  we  must  remember  that  his  feelings 
often  changed,  and  that  she  hoped  I  would  rejoice 
over  him  with  trembling. 

This  gave  my  love  to  her  a  great  shaking.  Why 
should  we  not  believe  that  God  has  answered  our 
fervent  prayers  for  him,  and  delivered  him  once  for 
all  ?  He  paints  a  lovely  picture  of  the  life  we  shall 
lead  together  when  he  settles  down  with  me  in  some 
modest  country  parish. 

I  would  rather  marry  a  country  minister  than  a 
king.  I  should  like  to  work  for  our  people,  just  as 
Mrs.  Strong  does  for  hers.  To  live  in  this  world  just 
to  have  a  good  time  would  be  horrible. 

MRS.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 

Pemaquid  is  fated  to  become  a  city,  I  really  be- 
lieve. New  families  keep  moving  in,  new  enterprises 
are  undertaken,  new  buildings  are  going  up,  and  we 
are  a  prosperous  community.  I  take  the  whole  credit 
of  this  to  myself.  We  have  had  the  meeting-house 
enlarged,  the    ugly  great  square   pews  taken  away, 


194  PEMAQUID. 

and  neat  slips  put  in  their  place  :  it  is  carpeted,  cush- 
ioned, and  next  winter  it  is  to  be  warmed.  What  a 
march  of  improvement  on  winters  we  have  shivered 
through,  with  nothing  but  the  foot-stoves  we  carried 
with  us  to  keep  us  from  freezing !  I  have  been  the  prime 
mover  in  all  these  improvements,  and  am  called  "  act- 
ive in  the  church."  My  next  act  will  be  to  persuade  the 
people  to  sit  through  the  long  prayer,  instead  of  stand- 
ing till  they  are  ready  to  drop.  But  here  I  meet  with 
opposition  dire.  Old  Mr.  Strong  says  it  would  be  an 
insult  to  our  Maker  to  sit  while  addressing  Him.  And 
as  even  the  devil  can  quote  Scripture,  why  should  not 
I  ?  So  I  pointed  triumphantly  to  the  passage  which 
represents  David  as  sitting  before  the  Lord.  In  re- 
turn they  aimed  at  me  so  many  texts  about  standing, 
kneeling,  bowing  down,  lying  on  the  face,  that  I  was 
quite  put  to  rout.  However,  I  recovered  myself,  and 
declared  I  would  rather  kneel  than  stand.  Symptoms 
of  holy  horror  appeared.  Papists  kneel,  consequently 
we  must  not.  Was  ever  anything  more  ridiculous? 
As  far  as  I  was  taught  any  religious  service  by  my 
parents,  it  was  to  kneel  when  I  entered  church  and 
count  ten ;  an  act  I  have  repeated  here  from  force 
of  habit,  thereby  making  myself  the  object  of  no  lit- 
tle merriment,  it  seems. 

HAT   BOON  TO   JULIET. 

Your  adored  F.  W.  is  in  a  highly  devout  and  ele- 
vated  frame.     There  has  been   a   solemn   revivalist 


MRS.    WOODFORD '  S  JO  URNAL  195 

here.  He  has  set  people's  sins  before  them,  turned 
many  unto  righteousness,  and  healed  not  a  few  back- 
sliders.    Among  the  latter  is  F.  W. 

I  went  to  Dr.  Robertson's  church  last  Sunday  to 
look  after  the  young  man,  and  he  walked  home  with 
me,  discoursing  with  great  unction  on  the  event  that 
has  occurred  to  him.  I  expressed  deep  interest,  and 
he  w^as  so  absorbed  in  his  subject,  that  he  could  not 
help  coming  in  to  enlarge  still  further  upon  it. 

This  evangelist  is  to  be  here  again  next  winter,  and 
you  had  better  come  and  let  him  convert  you  for  a 
brief  season.  Ha !  ha !  you  can  do  it  to  perfection, 
and  it  will  be  as  good  as  a  play  to  look  on. 

Do  not  let  Ruth  know  it  if  you  come  here.  Pre- 
tend you  are  going  elsewhere.  Otherwise  she  will 
build  a  Chinese  wall  round  her  beloved. 

MRS.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 

Frank  has  been  here  for  a  short  visit,  and  has  been 
so  devoted  to  Ruth  that  I  do  not  see  the  smallest 
reason  to  suppose  Juliet  will  ever  regain  her  power 
over  him.  When  he  is  his  best  self  he  certainly  is  as 
charming  and  winning  a  young  man  as  can  be  found. 
I  do  not  wonder  that  all  the  girls  in  Pemaquid  are 
pining  for  him.  Ruth  is  radiant  with  happiness,  yet 
very  sympathizing  and  kind  to  Juliet,  whom  she 
pities,  as  she  well  may.  Still,  Juliet  does  not  seem 
to  realize  that  Frank  is  lost  to  her.  She  made  her- 
self very  agreeable  to  him  when  he  was  here,  and  be- 


196  FEMAQUID. 

haved  in  a  meek  and  downcast  way  quite  new  to  her, 
and  very  becoming. 

This  winter  has  set  in  with  an  extraordinary  snow- 
storm. Every  man  and  boy  in  town  who  could  han- 
dle a  shovel  was  ordered  out  by  the  Selectmen  to 
make  a  path  to  the  meeting-house.  They  dug  a 
long,  narrow  path,  barely  wide  enough  for  one  person 
to  pass,  and  we  formed  a  long  procession,  Indian  file, 
till  we  reached  it.  The  men  were  so  tired  that  half 
of  them  fell  asleep.  We  returned  home  in  the  same 
way,  the  walls  of  drifted  snow  towering  on  each  side 
of  us  like  mountains.  It  gave  me  the  strangest  sen- 
sations imaginable  to  walk  in  this  funereal  way,  on 
noiseless  footsteps.  Nobody  could  get  into  the  meet- 
ing-house to  light  the  fire  till  this  canal  had  been 
dug,  so  we  nearly  perished  with  cold. 

ruth's  journal. 

Frank  has  made  us  a  short  visit,  and  reconciled 
everybody  to  him.  Even  Father  Strong  is  interested 
in  him.  We  had  ever  so  many  delightful  talks  to- 
gether, two  or  three  sleigh-rides,  took  tea  at  the  par- 
sonage twice,  and  Frank  spoke-  and  prayed  at  the 
conference-meetings  to  the  edification  of  everybody. 
Old  Ma'am  Huse  told  me  he  talked  like  one  inspired, 
and  not  long  for  this  world. 

Juliet  behaved  beautifully.  She  kept  out  of  his 
way  all  she  could,  and  when  she  had  to  be  with  him 
was  quiet  and  gentle  as  I  never  saw  her  before.     So 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  197 

I  don't  see  but  my  cup  runs  over,  and  I  hope  I  feel 
some  gratitude  to  God  for  all  these  mercies. 

Mother  has  changed  too.  Now  that  Juliet  is  pleas- 
ant to  her,  she  seems  relieved  of  care,  or,  at  least,  a 
good  deal  relieved,  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  we 
settled  down  into  a  peaceable  family.  Perhaps  Ju- 
liet and  her  mother  are  beginning  to  believe  in  God, 
and  to  care  for  their  own  souls,  though  that  would 
be  almost  too  good  to  be  true.  Only  when  I  think 
how  often  I  have  prayed  for  them,  and  what  an  ex- 
ample father  has  set  them,  I  ought  to  expect  any 
wonder  to  be  wrought.  All  that  we  should  want 
then  would  be  to  have  Samuel  and  Kezia  come  home. 


XVII. 

"  With  devotion's  visage, 
And  pious  action,  we  do  sugar  o'er 
The  devil  himself." 

"  Be  like  the  bird,  that,  halting  in  her  flight 
Awhile  on  boughs  too  slight. 
Feels  them  give  way  beneath  her  and  yet  sings, 
Knowing  that  she  hath  wings." 

FRANK'S  JOURNAL. 

I  HAVE  received  by  to-day's  mail  a  most  touching 
letter  from  Juliet.  She  says  she  was  so  much 
struck  with  the  change  for  the  better  in  me,  during 
my  last  vacation,  that  she  has  come  to  have  faith  in 
the  religion  I  profess.  This  accounts  for  her  meek 
and  gentle  manner  when  I  was  at  Pemaquid,  and 
with  which  I  was  very  much  charmed.  She  inquires 
whether  the  blessed  evangelist  of  whom  I  spoke  is 
likely  to  be  here  this  winter,  adding  that  if  he  is,  she 
shall  make  a  great  effort  to  come  and  hear  him.  All 
this  is  indeed  wonderful,  but  nothing  is  too  hard  for 
God. 

She  has  come,  and  I  have  had  several  conversa- 
tions with  her.     The  poor  girl  is  very  ignorant  of 
(198) 


i?  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  199 

divine  things,  and  I  am  obliged  to  explain  simple 
truths  to  her  over  and  over  again.  As  she  has  no 
other  religious  friend  in  the  city,  she  naturally  leans 
upon  me,  and  I  am  only  too  thankful  to  help  her 
onward  and  upward.  I  am  sure  my  dear  little  Ruth 
would  feel  no  annoyance  at  our  being  together  so 
much,  if  she  knew  what  subject  attracts  us  to  each 
other.  But  Juliet  begs  me  not  to  write  to  her  about 
it,  as  she  feels  very  shy  concerning  her  sacred  pur- 
poses, and  speaks  of  them  to  no  mortal  but  to  me. 
This  shyness  is  natural  and  becoming,  and  raises  her 
in  my  opinion. 

So  I  begin  my  ministry  before  completing  my 
studies,  and  am  surprised  to  find  how  delightful  it  is. 
If  it  is  so  transcendently  beautiful  to  labor  for  one 
soul,  what  will  it  be  to  spend  and  be  spent  for 
many  ? 

ruth's  journal. 

We  are  having  another  peaceable  winter,  as  Juliet 
has  gone  to  Boston  to  visit  her  friend  Miss  Hussey. 
She  has  evidently  given  up  trying  to  wean  Frank 
from  me  and  attract  him  to  herself,  and  she  may 
meet  with  some  one  now  whom  she  could  like  as 
well. 

Frank  has  not  much  time  to  write  me  now,  as  he 
says  he  is  greatly  occupied,  in  every  leisure  moment, 
in  doing  good.     I  am  so  thankful  he  is  so  hard  at 


200  PEMAQUID. 

work.  It  shows  that  the  change  in  him  was  not  a 
mere  matter  of  feeling,  but  that  his  soul  is  truly  in 
earnest. 

I  am  hard  at  work,  too,  only  it  isn't  hard.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Strong  find  plenty  for  me  to  do  in  the  day- 
time, and  in  the  evening  I  read  to  father. 

MRS.  DEACON  STONE  CALLS  ON  MRS.  WOODFORD. 

"  I  thought  I'd  just  call  in  and  have  a  little  talk 
with  you  about  Ruth.  Our  Josiah,  he's  dreadful 
fond  of  her,  but  she  won't  look  at  him,  and  he's 
grown  so  fractious  that  there's  no  living  with  him. 
Now  if  you'd  just  speak  a  good  word  for  him,  Mis' 
Woodford." 

"  Why,  what  can  you  mean  ?  Ruth  is  engaged  to 
Frank  Weston." 

"  I  know  some  think  so.  But  Josiah  says  he  was 
put  on  probation,  and  that  he's  one  of  the  kind  that 
never  knows  his  own  mind,  and  may  jilt  her  any  day. 
And  he  thinks  he  is  fond  of  your  girl." 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  in  that." 

"  Well,  now,  what  objection  has  Ruth  to  our 
Josiah  ?  He's  a  rising  man,  and  can  afford  to  support 
a  wife  handsome." 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Stone,  if  Josiah  wants  to  marry  Ruth 
he  should  apply  to  her." 

"So  he  has.  He  has  offered  himself  four  times, 
and  she  has  refused  him.  I  never  see 'anybody  so 
obstinate.     You  need  not  laugh.     It's  no  laughing 


MliS.  DEACON  STONE.  201 

matter.  His  pa  and  me  used  to  take  comfort  In  him, 
but  he's  nothing  but  contrariness  now.  If  Frank  ever 
does  jilt  Ruth,  and  folks  mostly  say  he  will,  won't 
you  speak  a  good  word  for  our  poor  boy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly !  With  great  pleasure.  Being  the 
child's  own  mother,  I  can  undoubtedly  place  her  in 
your  son's  arms  the  moment  she  falls  out  of  Frank's." 

"  Well,  now,  it  is  hard  to  tell  when  you're  in  ear- 
nest or  when  you're  making  believe.  They  do  say 
your  girl's  set  her  heart  on  Frank  Weston,  and  if 
you'd  favor  that,  Ruth  would  be  left  for  Josiah  ;  don't 
you  see?  " 

''  Yes,  I  see  a  great  many  things.  I  do  not  expect 
you  to  see  your  son  with  my  eyes,  or  with  Ruth's 
eyes  ;  but  I  advise  you  to  cease  persecuting  that  poor 
child  as  you  and  he  have  done.  She  will  never  marry 
Josiah  ;  of  that  I  am  perfectly  sure,  and  the  sooner  he 
makes  up  his  mind  to  it  the  better.  We  are  in 
no  hurry  to  part  with  Ruth  ;  she  is  quite  young, 
and—" 

"  You  won't  do  nothing  to  help  my  Josiah  ?  Then 
I  think  you  are  very  unfeeling.  I  might  have  known 
you  was.  I've  always  heard  so.  And  Ruth  she's  so 
obstinate !  " 

''Ha!  ha!  ha!" 
•   "  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  "  -" 

*'  Why,  ha !  ha  !  excuse  me,  ha  !  ha !  the  idea  of  our 
Ruth,  ha !  ha !  ha !  the  idea  of  our  Ruth  being  ob- 
stinate because  she  will  not  break  off  her  engagement 
9* 


202  FEMAQUID. 

with  the  man  she  loves,  to  marry  a  man  like  'Siah 
Stone ! " 

"  Well,  I  think  you  might  be  a  little  politer,  and  not 
laugh  in  a  woman's  face  that  is  a-worrying  about  the 
only  son  she's  got.  I  know  his  hair's  red,  but  so  was 
his  father's,  and  I  didn't  let  that  hinder  my  marrying 
him  ;  and  he  aint  had  much  book  learning,  but  his 
father  hadn't  neither,  yet  he's  been  promoted  to  be  a 
deacon.  And  I  don't  see  what  Ruth's  got  against 
Josiah,  no,  I  don't." 

ruth's  journal. 

I  have  a  long  letter  from  Frank,  which  has  over- 
whelmed me  with  the  sense  of  my  own  poor  spiritual 
attainments.  He  is  soaring  in  sublime  regions  I  have 
never  explored,  while  I  creep  along  away  down  here^ 
crying,  "God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!"  With 
shame  and  confusion  of  face  I  bow  before  Him, 
wondering  at  His  patience  and  forbearance,  and  the 
many  gracious  discoveries  He  makes  to  me  of  Him- 
self— to  me,  so  unworthy. 

Frank  says  he  never  even  conceived  of  such  bliss 
as  he  is  now  enjoying,  and  that  he  longs  for  the  day 
when  he  shall  tell  to  thousands  the  story  of  the  Cross. 
''  Yes,  thousands!'  he  says.  "  I  could  not  be  satisfied 
with  preaching  to  a  handful  in  some  remote  village. 
I  must  become  a  city  pastor,  and  win  a  multitude  of 
souls." 


JO  SI  AH  STONE  VISITS  RUTH.  203 

JOSIAH   STONE  VISITS   RUTH. 

"  What  have  you  got  against  me,  Ruth  Woodford  ? 
You  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a  wild  Indian." 

"  I've  nothing  against  you,  Josiah,  except  your 
coming  here  so  often,  and  talking  to  me  as  you  do. 
And  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  one  thing.  Yoii 
shall  not  come  here  again  !  I  have  put  up  with  it,  and 
put  up  with  it,  because  your  father  is  a  deacon,  and 
because  I  hated  to  do  anything  unkind.  If  I  was 
married  to  Frank  you  would  not  dare  to  come  and 
make  love  to  me  ;  well,  it  is  just  as  much  of  an  insult 
now  as  it  would  be  then." 

"  It's  hard  for  a  feller  to  be  hit  when  he's  down." 

''  You  are  not  down.  You  have  pushed,  and  pushed, 
and  pushed  me  to  the  wall,  and  I've  borne  it ;  but  I 
can't  go  through  the  wall,  so  I've  had  to  turn  round 
and  face  you.  You  can't  bear  to  see  me  angry  ?  I  ought 
to  be  angry  when  you  trample  Frank's  rights  under 
foot.  You  wish  I  wouldn't  cry?  Then  go  away, 
Josiah  Stone.  I  forgive  you  all  your  persecutions  ;  I 
forgive  you  all  the  mean,  cruel  tricks  you've  played 
so  as  to  see  me;  I  forgive  you  the  unkind  things 
you've  said  about  Frank ;  but  you  shall  not  talk  love 
to  me  any  more.  How  can  a  man  demean  himself  to 
a  girl  who — who — " 

''  Hates  him." 

"  I  don't  hate  you,  Josiah.  But  I  do  hate  your 
ways." 


204  PEMAQUID.     - 

"  To  think  of  her  caring  so  much  for  that  sneak, 
that  she  won't  look  at  a  feller  like  me,  that —  Hi !  if 
she  hasn't  went  out  of  the  room  in  a  jiffy!  Who'd 
*a  thought  she  had  so  much  pluck  in  her?  Why,  I 
thought  she  was  a  soft  little  thing  that  I  should 
worry  into  havin'  me.     It  beats  all !  " 

FRANK'S  JOURNAL. 

I  know  of  nothing  plcasanter  than  the  life  I  am 
leading  now.  I  see  Juliet  every  day,  and  notes  pass 
between  us  very  frequently,  and  of  the  most  spiritual 
character.  I  wish  Ruth's  religious  experiences  were  as 
remarkable  as  Juliet's,  but  she  has  never  had  any  other 
than  the  most  ordinary  ones.  Juliet  has  great  nobil- 
ity of  character.  She  knows  of  things  to  Ruth's  dis- 
credit, but  will  not  tell  me  one  of  them.  She  says  it 
is  enough  that  she  can  not  live  under  the  same  roof 
with  her  for  any  length  of  time,  and  yet  Ruth  always 
contrived  to  give  me  the  impression  that  she  had  a 
sweet,  very  sweet  disposition.  I  could  not  think  of 
marrying  a  girl  with  any  other.  I  mean  a  naturally 
good  one,  or  one  sweetened  by  divine  grace,  as 
Juliet's  has  been. 

Juliet  grows  more  lovely  every  day.  Her  gratitude 
for  the  Christian  aid  I  have  rendered  her  has  taken 
the  form  of  a  pure  and  exalted  friendship  for  me.  I 
return  it  warmly.  The  tie  that  binds  kindred  Chris- 
tian hearts  together  is  perfectly  beautiful. 


FRANK 'S  JO  URNAL.  205 

I  have  received  to-day  an  illiterate,  anonymous 
letter  from  Pemaquid,  containing  these  words  : 

You  are  welcome  to  Miss  Spitfire.     Take  warn- 
ing from  A  FlEXD. 

Juliet  says  the  writer  is  Josiah  Stone,  and  that 
'■'  Miss  Spitfire  "  means  Ruth,  and  pointed  out  the 
mistake  of  the  writer,  who  undoubtedly  meant  to  sign 
himself  a  friend. 

The  warning  was  not  without  its  effect,  however. 

"  Juliet,"  I  said,  "  you  know  whether  this  appella- 
tion justly  applies  to  Ruth,  and  you  ought  to  tell  me 
the  truth." 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  tell  the  truth,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  But  I  may  say  this  :  I  have  always  pitied 
you  for  your  infatuation  about  her.  And  now  you 
see  she  has  been  showing  herself  to  Josiah  in  her  true 
colors." 

''  But  why  should  Josiah  undertake  to  play  the 
friend  to  me,  and  put  me  on  my  guard  against  her  ? 
He  always  hated  me  cordially." 

"  Perhaps,  then,  he  means  me  when  he  speaks  of 
Miss  Spitfire,"  she  said,  laughing  merrily. 

Ruth  has  played  the  hypocrite  very  cleverly,  it 
seems.  I  thought  if  there  was  a  defect  in  her  char- 
acter it  was  want  of  spirit.  I  felt  imposed  upon,  and 
that  my  love  for  her  had  had  a  chill.  And  here  was 
Juliet,  this  beautiful  girl  at  my  side,  full  of  sympathy, 
and  looking  at  me  v/ith  moist  eyes. 


206  PEMAQUID. 

*' Fortunately  you  are  not  married  to  her,"  she 
said. 

"  I  am  engaged  to  her,  which  is  the  same  thing,"  I 
said. 

''  Oh,  no.     You  were  put  on  probation." 

"  So  I  was." 

And  I  always  admired  Juliet ;  and  if  she  had  been 
a  religious  girl  I  should  have  chosen  her,  of  course, 
instead  of  Ruth.  And  with  her  remarkable  experi- 
ences she  would  be  more  suitable  as  a  minister's  wife. 
*'  Oh,  Juliet,"  I  cried,  '^  to  think  how  different  things 
might  have  been.  To  think  of  the  delightful  wintei 
we  have  spent  together — the  happiest  months  of  my 
life !  " 

"The  happiest  months  of  mine,  too,"  she  murmur 
ed.     "  Oh,  Frank  !  " 

The  scales  fell  from  our  eyes. 

I  knew  that  I  loved  her  passionately,  madly. 

She  knew  that  she  loved  me,  as  by  a  lightning  flash. 

In  a  moment  we  were  in  each  other's  arms,  pouring 
out  our  confessions  and  protestations  in  a  frenzy  of 
wild  delight. 

That  was  yesterday.  This  morning  comes  a  bitter 
waking.  I  am  engaged  to  two  girls  at  once.  There  is 
a  reaction  from  long,  unnatural  religious  strain  in 
both  Juliet  and  myself.  We  are  tempted  to  go  to 
the  devil.  And  with  which  of  the  two  must  I  break 
off?     To  which   shall   I   play  false  ?     ''  Unstable  as 


jR  UTH'S  JO  URNAL.  207 

water,"  Frank  Weston,  ''  thou  shalt  not  excel !  "    Oh, 
that  I  could  take  yesterday  back ! 

ruth's  journal. 

Since  I  would  not  see  Josiah  Stone  he  has  written 
me  a  letter,  in  which  he  says  he  has  unmasked  me  to 
Frank.  I  do  not  know  what  he  means.  What  was 
there  to  unmask?  But  whatever  it  is,  it  may  explain 
my  not  hearing  from  Frank  for  so  many  weeks. 

What  a  mercy  it  is  that  in  this  time  of  suspense 
and  trouble  I  have  the  inestimable  privilege  of  telling 
my  story  to  One  whose  sympathy  is  always  ready, 
and  who  never  sends  me  away  empty.  If  it  is  His 
will  that  Frank  should  love  and  trust  me,  no  human 
beings  can  come  between  us.  And  if  He  sees  it  best 
to  separate  us,  His  will  shall  be  done,  even  if  it  kills 
nie. 


XVIII. 

*'  For  they  have  sown  the  wind,  and  shall  reap  the  whirlwind." 
MRS.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 

AFTER  an  absence  of  nearly  five  months  Juliet  re- 
turned home  triumphant,  and  went  singing  about 
the  house  like  a  mad  creature.  I  went  up  to  her  room 
the  next  day  to  hear  her  adventures,  for  she  never 
writes. 

"Well,"  she  said,  ''you  see  before  you  the  future 
Mrs.  F.  W." 

"  What  nonsense  are  you  talking,  child  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  talking  nonsense,"  she  re- 
pli:d.  '' F.  W.  and  I  have  fixed  the  wedding-day, 
and  you  can  be  present  at  our  nuptials  if  you  like." 

"And  what  about  his  engagement  to  Ruth?" 

"  Oh,  Ruth !  Well,  it  won't  take  long  to  sweep 
that  little  chip  away." 

"  But  Frank  has  no  means  of  supporting  a  wife." 

"  No,  but  his  wife  has  means  of  supporting  him 
till  he  has." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this  absurd  talk?     How 

can  you,  a  penniless  girl,  support  a  husband  ?  " 

"  Penniless  ?     Really  !     Oh,  I'm  penniless,  am  I  ?  '* 
(208) 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  209 

she  cried,  laughing.  ^'  Gracious,  how  good  it  does 
feel  to  laugh,  after  my  solemncholy  winter!  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  beginning  to  feel 
some  vague  alarm. 

"  Why,  is  it  possible  that  you  have  forgotten  the 
precious  letter  you  gave  me  to  read  —  the  letter  in 
which  you  reveal  the  secret  of  the  nice  little  dowry 
you  had  been  hoarding  up  for  me  ?  " 

"  The  letter  I  told  you  only  to  open  in  case  of  my 
death,"  I  gasped  out.  "  Oh,  Juliet,  I  wish  I  were  in- 
deed in  my  grave.  Undutiful,  ungrateful  child  !  But 
your  wickedness  shall  not  go  unpunished.  I  will 
withdraw  every  cent  of  that  money  from  the  bank, 
and  then  you  will,  indeed,  be  penniless." 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  had  not  thought  of  that  a  little 
sooner,"  she  returned,  coolly,  arranging  her  hair  elab- 
orately, and  trying  the  effect  of  one  shade  of  ribbon 
and  another.  ''  Unfortunately,  however,  I  have  spared 
you  the  trouble." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  to  my  face  that  you 
have  stolen  that  sum  ;  that  fruit  of  so  many  years  of 
sacrifice  and  sorrow  ?  "  I  took  her  by  her  shoulders 
as  I  confronted  her. 

''  Your  language  is  not  very  choice,"  she  returned. 
"  I  should  hardly  call  it  stealing  to  transfer  my  own 
property  to  a  place  of  greater  safety.  You  seem  to 
forget  that  the  whole  sum  was  invested  in  my  name." 

At  that  moment,  if  the  instrument  of  death  had 
been  in  my  hand,  I  should  have  killed  her. 


210  PEMAQUID. 

"Ah  !  "  she  cried  at  last,  ''  I  knew  we  should  have 
a  scene  sooner  or  later,  and  wanted  to  have  it  over. 
But  I  didn't  think  things  would  come  to  such  a  pass 
as  this.  There's  no  use  in  going  on  so.  If  you  write 
letters  to  me,  and  then  put  it  down  in  your  journal 
what  they're  about,  you  can't  wonder  that  I  read 
them.  A  precious  specimen  that  journal  is,  isn't  it  ? 
How  I  did  scream  when  I  read  it,  especially  the  part 
about  being  in  love  with  Pa  Woodford.  Why  can't 
you  listen  to  reason,  mother?  Wasn't  it  better  to  do 
what  I  did,  than  be  driven  to  do  what  people  say  you 
did,  when  you  were  threatened  and  torn  asunder  from 
the  man  you  had  set  your  heart  on?  " 

And  she,  too,  believed  the  worst  side  of  my  story ! 
I  remember  uttering  those  words  in  a  sort  of  shriek, 
and  after  that  I  knew  nothing  till  I  found  myself  in 
bed,  under  the  ministry  of  tender  hands.  I  started 
up  and  looked  around  me.  My  room  was  dark  and 
silent,  but  I  felt  two  hands  busying  themselves  about 
me. 

"  Is  it  you,  Juliet?"  I  asked,  faintly. 

"  No,  it's  Ruth,"  she  answered.  ''  I  wouldn't  talk 
any  more.  You've  had  a  fall,  and  got  hurt.  Juliet 
says  you  tripped  over  a  trunk  in  her  room.  The 
doctor  is  down-stairs ;  shall  I  let  him  come  up  ?  " 

I  was  too  faint  and  dizzy  to  answer.  The  doctor 
w^as  soon  at  my  side. 

"  Ah !  things  have  improved  since  I  left  her,"  he 
said.    "  I  think  she  will  do  well  now.    Keep  her  quiet, 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  211 

and  have  no  talking  In  the  room."  I  heard  him  go 
away ;  then  Mr.  Woodford  came  and  sat  down  by  the 
bed. 

"  I  will  watch  your  mother  to-night,"  he  said  to 
Ruth. 

She  remonstrated  in  a  whisper,  but  at  last  crept 
silently  away.  The  room  became  darker  and  darker. 
I  could  hear  my  head  beating  and  throbbing  on  the 
pillow.  I  moaned  aloud.  Mr.  Woodford  leaned  over 
me,  and  I  felt  him  applying  ice  to  my  temples.  Then 
he  raised  me  tenderly,  and  gave  me  water  to  drink. 
I  gathered  all  my  strength,  and  whispered  : 

"Tell  me,  am  I  dying?" 

"  No,  dear,  no,"  he  said,  soothingly.  "  Try  to  fall 
asleep.  Don't  look  so  terrified.  Nothing  can  hurt 
you.     I  shall  be  right  here." 

He  began  to  sing.  I  remembered  that  Thanks- 
giving Day  when  he  walked  up  and  down  singing 
thus  to  Mrs.  Strong's  baby.  It  was  the  same  hymn 
now,  and  sung  as  it  was  then.  I  fell  asleep  then.  But 
when  I  awoke,  with  a  start,  he  still  sat  there,  thought- 
ful and  tender,  so  tender  that  I  could  almost  fancy 
that  he  loved  me. 

^  The  next  day  Juliet  took  his  place  at  my  side  as 
nurse.  For  the  moment  she  was  subdued  and  awe- 
stricken.  I  saw  it  in  her  face — she  believed  I  should  die. 

Die!  But  there  was  something  appalling  in  that 
w^ord  !  I  rose  up  and  fought  against  it  with  all  my 
might. 


212  PEMAQUID. 

"Don%  mother!  Don't,"  cried  Juliet.  "Do  He 
still.  Mercy  on  us !  I  believe  she  is  raving  distract- 
ed. Ruth  !  Mr.  Woodford  !  Do  come  somebody 
and  help  me  keep  mother  in  bed  !  " 

Mr.  Woodford  and  Ruth  came  hurrying  in. 

"  I  am  rested  now,  let  me  stay  with  your  mother," 
he  said  to  Juliet.  He  sat  down  by  my  side  and 
soothed  and  calmed  me. 

I  think  that  after  this  he  was  always  there  in  that 
one  spot.  When  I  awoke,  shuddering,  from  fearful 
dreams,  and  turned,  with  a  cry,  to  look  for  him,  there 
he  sat ;  always  quiet,  gentle,  unwearied.  Ruth  was 
always  at  hand,  too.  But  Juliet's  exuberant  vitality 
wearied  me.  I  was  glad  to  see  her  less  and  less  as  the 
days  and  weeks  advanced. 

When  at  last  I  began  slowly  to  recover,  I  still  clung 
like  a  child  to  my  husband. 

When  he  left  me  I  begged  him  to  return  as  soon  as 
possible.  When  he  came  I  clutched  at  him  with  sobs 
and  tears  of  relief;  I  who  had  been  so  self-reliant,  so 
well-poised ! 

Ah !  into  what  infantine  helplessness  I  had  fallen  ! 

So  the  weeks  crept  slowly  and  languidly  away.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Strong  came  to  see  me  and  were  full  of  kind, 
quiet  sympathy.  Mrs.  Stone,  Josiah's  mother,  came 
sneaking  in,  eyed  me  cautiously,  and  uttered  an 
ominous  *'  Humph  !  " 

Being  interpreted  this  meant : 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  213 

"  Your  day  is  about  over,  ma'am  !  And  I,  for  one, 
am  glad  to  see  your  pride  brought  down." 

But  my  day  was  not  over.  There  came  a  time 
when  Mr.  Woodford  carried  me  down-stairs  in  his 
arms  and  took  me  out  to  drive.  It  was  on  a  dreary 
day  in  March  that  I  had  last  looked  on  the  face  of 
Nature.  Now  spring  had  burst  into  leaf  and  bloom 
and  verdure ;  even  Pemaquid  was  beautiful  and  radi- 
ant. Mr.  Woodford  was  kind  and  careful,  and  drove 
with  caution,  often  asking  if  I  felt  tired.  And  in 
spirit  I  was  very  weary.  All  this  flush  of  blossom 
and  beauty  mocked  my  desolate,  bloomless  soul. 

Ah !  if  Mr.  Woodford  only  knew  all  the  past  and 
yet  could  lavish  on  me  such  kind  cares !  And  oh ! 
if  that  grim,  terrible  spectre  called  Death  would 
never  again  look  me  in  the  face ! 

But  no ;  there  could  be,  there  should  be  for  me  no 
peace,  here  or  hereafter ! 

Amid  these  gloomy  thoughts  health  was  stealing 
back  to  me  very  slowly,  but  every  summer's  day 
brought  strength  with  it. 

"  Ruth,"  I  asked  suddenly  one  day,  "  why  have  I 
an  unpleasant  association  with  the  thought  of  Frank? 
Was  there  news  from  him  on  the  day  of  my  attack?" 

"  I  have  not  heard  from  him  lately,"  she  replied, 
and  went  steadily  on  with  her  work. 

"  I  have  some  unpleasant  association  with  his 
name,"  I  went  on,  confused  ideas  struggling  in  my 
mind. 


2U  PEMAQUID. 

She  was  silent ;  but  at  last  she  said  : 

"  I  wish  I  could  read  well  enough  to  read  aloud  to 
you ;  I  used  to  read  so  much  to  grandma." 

I  said  I  wished  she  would  try  it ;  and  she  went  and 
got  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress."  I  soon  forgot  the 
reader  in  the  book. 

Mr.  Woodford  came  in  after  a  time  and  listened 
with  me  until  it  was  time  for  Ruth  to  go  to  bed. 
Every  evening  after  this  passed  in  the  same  way. 
The  sound  of  her  voice  would  finally  put  me  to  sleep  ; 
and  sleep  was  what  I  needed  now.  And  the  more  I 
slept  the  less  chaotic  my  thoughts  became,  and  the 
more  I  began  to  recall  the  past.  Who  had  irritated 
me  on  the  day  of  my  seizure  ?  Was  it  Juliet  ?  or  was 
it  Frank  ?  or  was  it  both  ?  I  gathered  up  my  con- 
fused memories  to  no  purpose.  All  was  vague  and 
confused. 

At  last  I  said  to  Ruth  : 

"  I  must  know  what  has  happened.  Where  is 
Frank,  and  what  has  he  done?" 

''  I  do  not  know  exactly  where  he  is,"  she  replied. 
Something  tremulous  in  her  voice  made  me  search 
her  face.  Yes,  I  looked  at  her,  really  looked  at  her 
now  for  the  first  time  in  all  these  weeks.  My  illness 
and  my  thoughts,  how  they  had  absorbed  me ! 

''  Ruth,  he  has  forsaken  you,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  she  answered. 

There  was  no  need  of  that  meek  answer.  He  had 
forsaken   her,  and   so   had   her   girlish    beauty,    her 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  215 

round,  full  cheek,  her  fresh  color.  She  had  grown  old 
under  my  very  eye  and  I  had  not  perceived  it  till  now. 

Juliet  came  into  the  room,  half  dancing,  half  run^ 
ning.  Ruth  got  up  and  went  out.  The  contrast  of 
the  two  as  they  passed  each  other  was  never  so  strik- 
ing. Juliet,  with  life  and  hope  all  before  her;  Ruth, 
slowly  and  quietly  creeping  away  from  it. 

''Juliet,  where  is  Frank?"  I  cried. 

''  Not  too  far  off  to  be  found  when  wanted,"  she 
answered. 

"  How  shockingly  Ruth  is  altered  !  "  I  said. 

"  Yes,  she  does  grow  old.  Poor  little  poke  !  She 
actually  has  pined  and  moped  after  her  beloved  since 
his  love  for  her  took  wing.  Mother,  what  are  you 
going  to  give  me  for  an  outfit  when  I  take  wing  in 
pursuit  of  F.  W.  ?  " 

Then  it  all  rushed  back  to  me  ! — our  conversation 
in  her  room,  the  stolen  money,  my  passion  ! 

"  I  wonder  you  have  the  effrontery  to  allude  to  the 
subject,"  I  cried.  "Do  you  know,  wicked  girl,  that 
you  were  near  causing  the  death  of  your  mother?  " 

''  You  shouldn't  have  taken  it  so  hard.  But  you 
always  were  so  fond  of  money.  I  am  sorry  to  dis- 
oblige you  so  much ;  but  really  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  expect  Frank  or  anybody  else  to  take  me  off  your 
hands  with  nothing  but  the  clothes  on  my  back." 

"Frank?" 

"  Yes,  Frank !  Who  else  ?  You  know  I  have 
always  said  I  should  marry  him." 


216  PEMAQUID. 

"  He  was  engaged  to  Ruth.  You  knew  he  was 
engaged  to  her." 

"  He  was  not.  Ruth  can  tell  you  so,  and  so  can 
Pa  Woodford  if  he's  a  mind.  They  were  put  on 
probation  for  an  unlimited  period,  and  before  the 
time  was  up,  my  gentleman  changes  his  mind,  and 
drops  off." 

"  It  was  the  same  thing  as  an  engagement ;  pre- 
cisely the  same.  It  only  wanted  the  mere  form  of 
Mr.  Woodford's  full  consent." 

"  Make  it  out  to  suit  yourself,"  she  returned  care- 
lessly. '*  It's  all  one  to  me — only  some  morning  if 
you  wake  up  and  find  another  bird  has  flown,  you 
needn't  be  frightened.  I  declare,  I  wish  it  was  to  be  to- 
morrow !  What  with  your  falling  sick,  and  Ruth's  mop- 
ing, and  Pa  Woodford's  glum  looks,  and  Mr.  Strong's 
horrid  great  black  eyes  staring  one  out  of  counte- 
nance every  time  one  meets  him,  Pemaquid  is  getting 
to  be  intolerable.  How  you  ever  came  to  settle 
down  in  such  a  hole  is  a  gerfect  mystery  to  me.  But 
as  long  as  you  have ;  as  long  as  you've  got  to  stay 
here  the  rest  of  your  life,  I  wonder  you  don't  make 
the  best  of  it  and  go  to  psalm-singing,  and  all  that, 
like  the  rest  of  'em.  I  declare  !  if  I  was  as  old  as  you 
are,  and  had  one  foot  in  the  grave,  I'd  begin  to  get 
ready  for  what's  coming — for  I  suppose  something  is 
coming  some  time,  isn't  there?" 

I  rose  up  and  tottered  out  of  the  room.  Must 
Saul  become  one  of  the  prophets  to  preach  up  to  me 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.         217 

my  duty  ?  Oh,  if  I  only  dared  to  shake  the  very  Hfe 
out  of  that  girl !  Everything  in  this  world  is  hateful, 
hateful !  And  if  I  would  flee  from  it,  where  shall  I 
flee? 

I  tear  my  hair  as  I  write,  and  curse  the  day  that  I 
was  born.  And  Juliet !  unnatural,  thankless  child  ! 
What  of  the  day  when  yon  saw  the  light  ? 

10 


XIX. 

"  Then  came  Peter  to  him,  and  said,  Lord,  how  oft  shall  my  brother 
sin  against  me,  and  I  forgive  him?  till  seven  times? 

"Jesus  saith  unto  him,  I  say  not  unto  thee  until  seven  times  ;  but 
until  seventy  times  seven." 

ruth's  journal. 

JULIET  came  home  from  Boston  in  great  spirits. 
Mother  had  been  talking  with  her  up  in  her  room, 
and  just  as  she  was  coming  away  she  fell  over  a  trunk 
and  was  dreadfully  hurt.  I  can  not  think  how  that 
trunk  came  to  be  in  the  way.  Juliet  screamed  so  that 
everybody  ran  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  father 
took  mother  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  to  her  own 
bed.  We  got  her  undressed  somehow,  though  she  was 
quite  insensible.  The  doctor  stayed  here  all  that  night 
and  did  what  he  could  for  her.  He  said  but  for  Ju- 
liet's word,  he  should  call  it  a  fit  of  apoplexy.  Father 
said  she  was  not  one  of  the  red-faced,  apoplectic  sort, 
but  the  doctor  said  that  was  all  nonsense.  A  lily 
could  have  such  an  attack  if  it  only  had  blood  in  its 
veins.  He  bled  mother  and  cupped  her,  and  I  really 
believe  he  would  have  leeched  her,  but  father  de- 
clared he  should  not.  I  suppose  the  doctor  knows,  but 
somehow,  the  m.ore  he  bled  her  the  weaker  she  grew. 
She  was  \veak  and  sick  for  a  good  many  weeks. 
(218) 


i?  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  219 

Father  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  praying  that  God 
would  spare  her  life  till  she  had  made  her  peace  with 
Him.  And  in  my  poor  way  I  did  the  same.  Juliet 
was  quite  sobered  down  when  she  saw  her  mother 
lying  there  day  after  day  in  such  a  dull  and  heavy 
state.  She  tried  to  help  us  take  care  of  her,  but  it 
never  seemed  to  come  handy  to  her  to  nurse  sick 
people.  Mother  said  she  tried  her  by  making  such  a 
bustle,  and  after  a  little  while  Juliet  gave  up  the  case 
to  us  and  said  she  would  see  to  things  down-stairs. 

All  the  while  mother  was  shut  up  in  her  room  she 
was  silent  and  sorrowful.  Sometimes,  after  she  began 
to  get  better,  I  would  see  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
sometimes  she  would  look  at  father  in  a  wishful  sort 
of  way,  as  if  she  had  something  to  say  to  him,  or 
wished  he  would  say  something  to  her. 

It  was  well  I  had  so  much  to  do.  For  as  soon  as 
her  first  fright  about  her  mother  was  over,  Juliet  told 
me  she  was  going  to  be  married  to  Frank  in  two  or 
three  months.  She  said  she  had  not  been  to  Boston, 
as  was  supposed,  but  had  been  at  her  friend's,  Miss 
Boon's,  in  New  York,  and  had  seen  Frank  every  day. 
At  first  I  did  not  believe  her.  But  at  last  he  wrote 
me  about  it  himself. 

I  never  thought,  when  I  began  to  write  in  this 
book,  what  a  comfort  it  was  going  to  be  to  me.  It 
seems  like  talking  about  my  troubles  to  somebody 
that  pities  me,  while  I  am  writing  down  what  has 
happened. 


220  PEMAQUID. 

When  grandma  died  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  asleep 
and  dreaming.  Since  then  a  great  deal  worse  thing 
has  happened  to  me  even  than  that.  I  hope  I  do 
not  murmur  against  God  for  sending  me  this  trouble. 
But  it  must  be  that  I  do,  else  why  am  I  so  sad  and 
sorrowful  ? 

Frank  and  I  were  engaged  to  each  other,  I  thought. 
Father  had  not  said  so  in  so  many  words,  but  he 
never  hindered  us  from  being  together  and  corre- 
sponding, and  Frank  said  of  course  we  should  be 
really  engaged  as  soon  as  the  period  of  probation 
was  over.  He  said  he  loved  me  and  never  should 
change  his  mind  about  wanting  to  have  me  for  his 
wife.  I  think  now  that  I  made  an  idol  of  him,  and 
so  sinned  against  God  ;  but  at  the  time  I  did  not 
know  how  my  heart  w^as  set  on  him. 

Mother  was  very  sick  a  long,  long  time.  She 
needed  a  great  deal  of  care.  We  never  dared  to 
leave  her  alone  a  single  minute.  If  we  did  she 
would  get  to  crying  out  and  seem  terrified,  as  if  she 
saw  some  evil  or  frightful  object.  It  took  all  father's 
time  and  all  mine  to  nurse  her,  for  she  would  not  let 
any  one  else  go  near  her.  It  seemed  strange  that 
she  hated  so  to  have  Juliet  come  into  the  room.  But 
I  suppose  it  Avas  because  Juliet  always  hit  her  face 
when  she  fanned  her,  and  shook  the  floor  when  she 
walked  across  the  room ;  and  then  once  she  spilt  co- 
logne into  mother's  eyes  and  hurt  her  dreadfully. 
T'--*  re-i.son  she  liked  my  nursing  best  was  that  I  had 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  221 

learned  of  grandma  what  to  do  and  what  not  to  do 
for  sick  people.  And  then  I  like  to  stay  at  home, 
and  it  comes  handy  to  me ;  and  it  doesn't  come 
handy  to  Juliet,  because  she  never  has  been  used 
to  it. 

Well !  I  suppose  not  seeing  me,  Frank  got  to  think- 
ing less  of  me.  It  was  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind 
with  him.  And  seeing  Juliet — and  Juliet  is  very 
handsome  and  knows  so  much  more  than  I  do — he 
got,  by  degrees,  to  liking  her  the  best.  I  can  not 
blame  him.  The  only  wonder  is  how  he  ever  came 
to  like  me  at  all.  And  then,  as  he  says  in  the  letter 
he  wrote  me  about  it,  we  were  never  really  engaged. 
/  thought  we  were,  but  he  says  he  never  did.  He 
said  father  decided  to  have  us  defer  our  engagement, 
thinking  our  minds  might  change. 

I  hope  nobody  will  ever  know  how  much  I  cried 
over  that  letter.  I  think  there  are  some  things  God 
is  willing  to  have  us  keep  secret  from  everybody  else, 
if  we  honestly  tell  Him  all  about  it.  And  I  did  tell 
Him  everything — even  the  sinful  passion  I  felt  when 
I  came  to  the  place  in  Frank's  letter  where  he  said 
he  hoped  I  would  try  to  like  Josiah  Stone  as  well  as 
I  had  liked  him. 

Father  was  very  sorry  for  me  when  Frank  broke 
off  with  me.  He  gathered  me  all  up  like  a  little 
baby  in  his  arms  and  cried. 

Then  he  said : 

"  Poor  little  motherless  thing  !  "  in  a  choking  sort 


222  PEMAQUID. 

of  voice,  a  good  many  times.  That  was  all  he  said 
at  first. 

But  after  a  while,  seeing  that  I  did  not  seem  to  set 
myself  about  anything  except  nursing  mother,  and 
how  I  moped  round,  he  said  one  day,  all  of  a  sudden : 

"  Try  God,  my  child  !     Only  try  Him  !  " 

I  looked  puzzled,  not  knowing  what  he  meant. 

"  I  know  you  love  Him,"  he  said,  ''  but  it  isn't  with 
all  your  heart.     If  you  did  you  would  be  satisfied." 

Father  never  says  much  at  a  time.  It  isn't  his 
way.  Perhaps  I  think  the  more  of  what  he  does 
say. 

That  night,  when  I  went  up  to  bed  and  had  shut 
my  door,  I  felt  lonely  and  dreary.  Somehow  my 
little  room,  that  used  to  look  so  pleasant,  had  looked 
dull  and  gloomy  ever  since  I  got  Frank's  letter  and 
after  I  had  read  it  there. 

I  read  my  chapter  and  knelt  down.  But  somehow, 
though  I  kept  saying  words  over,  I  wasn't  praying. 
Then  father's  words  came  to  me — ''  Try  God." 

It  was  just  as  if  he  had  said :  "  There's  no  use  in 
trying  anybody  else.  Nobody  else  can  comfort  you 
now." 

I  burst  out  crying.  I  said,  *'  No,  I  know  there  isn't. 
Nothing  seems  as  it  used  to  seem."  And  then  I 
began  to  pray  in  earnest.  Sometimes  crying  got  the 
upper  hand  and  sometimes  praying  did.  But  be- 
tween them  I  got  so  near  to  God  that  I  knczv  He 
heard  me  and  saw  me.     I  knew   He  pitied  me  and 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  223 

loved  me,  though  I  did  not  see  how  He  could.     Yes, 
I  saw  now  what  father  meant. 

Let  no  one  who  has  Christ  say  that  all  is  lost  when 
earthly  friends  are  lost.  Let  no  one  forget  that,  *'  as 
one  whom  his  mother  comforteth,  so  He  comforts 
the  stricken  heart."  I  know  now  how  Paul  and  Silas 
sang  in  their  prison-house,  with  their  feet  fast  in  the 
stocks,  and  how  other  songs  can  be  sung  in  the 
night. 

Poor  mother  has  her  troubles,  too.  Juliet  has  wor- 
ried and  harassed  her  almost  to  death.  The  very  day 
after  Frank  sent  me  that  farewell  letter  Juliet  said  she 
hoped  I  was  not  going  to  make  a  time  about  it,  but 
just  behave  in  a  sensible  way  and  consider  how  much 
more  suitable  a  wife  she  would  make  than  I  could. 
For  she  said  I  talked  very  bad  grammar  and  was 
awkward  in  my  ways.  And  as  soon  as  mother  got 
really  well  again,  one  morning  Juliet  was  missing. 
We  found  a  letter  in  her  room  telling  all  about  it. 

She  said  she  was  going  to  some  place  where  Frank 
was  to  meet  her,  and  they  should  be  married  right 
away.  She  said  she  hated  scenes,  and  was  so  afraid 
mother  and  I  would  get  one  up  she  had  decided  to 
slip  off  quietly  without  any  fuss.  And  she  said  she 
was  glad  she  could  leave  mother  in  such  good  hands 
as  mine,  and  was  sure  I  would  make  her  a  better 
daughter  than  she  had  done.  That  was  very  kind,  I 
thought.    I  shall  try  to  prove  worthy  of  that  opinion, 


224  PEMAQUID. 

and  make  mother  believe  I  am  truly  her  daughter, 
given  her  by  God  to  comfort  her  in  this  time  of  her 
great  distress. 

For  she  does  seem  almost  beside  herself.  It  seems 
Juliet  has  carried  off  some  money  and  other  things 
that  mother  says  are  as  good  as  stolen,  and  that  she 
never,  never  will  forgive  her  for  her  undutiful  be- 
havior. Of  course  there  is  some  misunderstanding 
about  it.  Juliet  never  would  do  such  a  dreadful 
thing  as  to  take  what  did  not  belong  to  her.  Poor 
mother!  She  just  walks  up  and  down,  wringing  her 
hands,  and  saying,  *'  But  I  never  will  forgive  her ! 
Never!  never! " 

Father  does  not  say  a  word.  He  looks  sorrowfully 
at  mother,  and  steals  away  to  pray  for  her.  It  is  a 
great  thing  to  have  father's  prayers. 

And  in  my  poor  way  I  pray  for  her  too.  My 
trouble  was  nothing. to  this,  for  Juliet  was  all  she 
had. 

MRS.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 

It  is  three  months  since  Juliet  went  away.  Some- 
times it  seems  more  like  three  years.  When  she  stole 
away  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  taking  with  her  every 
cent  of  the  money  I  had  gathered  together  by  years 
of  economy  and  toil  and  care,  my  natural  love,  such 
as  it  was,  turned  into  relentless  hate.  I  said  a  thou- 
sand times  I  would  never  see  her  again,  never  forgive 
her,  Mr.  Woodford  did  not  say  a  word,  nor  did 
Ruth.     At  first  I  hardly  noticed  their  silence  nor  their 


MRS.    V/OODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  225 

quiet  sympathy  and  kindness.  I  could  only  go  chafing 
up  and  dovrn  encompassed  with  rage  and  despair. 

But  one  day,  when  I  had  cried  for  the  thousandth 
time,  "  I  will  never  forgive  her,"  Mr.  Woodford's  si- 
lence attracted  my  attention. 

I  turned  to  him  sharply,  and  said  :  ''  Mr.  Woodford, 
why  don't  you  say  something  ?  Why  don't  you  say 
you  will  never  forgive  her?  Has  she  not  robbed  your 
child  of  her  youth,  and  her  good  looks,  and  her  spirits, 
and  all  she  had  to  hope  for?  " 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  deny  her  forgiveness,"  he  an- 
swered gently.  "  Indeed  I  do  forgive  her,  with  all 
my  heart." 

"  It  is  easy  for  you  to  say  so,"  I  cried  contemptu- 
ously. "  You  have  no  spirit  or  pride  in  you.  For 
my  part,  I  find  it  a  luxury  to  hate  even  my  own  child 
when  she  V\Tongs  me." 

An  answer  seemed  struggling  to  his  lips,  but  he 
restrained  himself.  But  as  I  stood  confronting  him 
his  face  was  as  the  face  of  an  angel.  Its  serenity  and 
sweetness  were  the  peacefulness  of  a  victory  that 
stood  over  against  my  defeat. 

"  What !  "  I  cried  again,  "  you  pretend  that  ycu 
have  ever  knov/n  such  provocation  as  mine,  and  that, 
knowing,  you  have  risen  superior  to  and  conquered  it  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  do  not  pretend  to  anything,"  he 

replied.     "We  all  have  our  provocations,  and  we  are 

all  occasions  of  them  to  others.    But  we  must  forgive 

as  v/c  hope  to  be  forgiven." 
10* 


226  PEMAQUID. 

I  was  maddened  by  his  quietness. 

''  Listen,  Mr.  Woodford,"  I  cried.  "  If  you  knew 
but  the  tithe  of  my  past  history— but  the  tithe^  I  say 
— instead  of  sitting  there,  smiling  and  preaching  for- 
giveness, you  would  be  spurning  me  from  your  door !  '* 

He  got  up  and  walked  to  and  fro  through  the  room. 

At  last,  coming  close  to  me,  and  taking  me  tenderly 
by  the  hand,  he  said  : 

"  I  do  know  it.  I  know  the  whole.  And  with  my 
whole  heart  I  have  forgiven  you." 

"  Since  when  ?  "  I  gasped,  while  everything  became 
dim  and  confused  before  my  eyes. 

"  Since  many  years,"  he  answered.  "  Let  us  speak 
of  it  no  more.  Only  bear  with  me  this  once  while  I 
plead  with  you  to  forgive  as  you  would  be  forgiven." 

I  rushed  from  him  to  my  own  room  and  hid  myself 
there. 

"  Many  years  !  " 

"  Many  years  "  he  had  known  and  yet  forgiven  me  ! 
**  Many  years  "  he  had  borne  with  my  pride,  my  hard- 
ness, my  insincerity !  "  Many  years  "  I  had  confronted 
him  with  my  arrogant,  self-seeking,  relentless  nature  ! 
And  he  had  forgiven  me !  I  lay  on  the  floor  and 
watered  it  with  my  tears.  Shame  overwhelmed  and 
crushed  me.  Before  the  simple  goodness  of  this  man 
my  learning,  my  talents — they  shrivelled  into  noth- 
ing and  vanity ! 

But  out  of  the  chaos  of  my  thoughts  one  rose  clear 
and  well-defined  into  living  form  : 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.         227 

This  is  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ ! 

I  said  it  to  myself  over  and  over  and  over  again,  as 
that  long,  lonely  night  of  mingled  agony  and  ecstasy 
dragged  itself  on. 

•  We  took  breakfast  next  morning  in  absolute  silence. 
Mr.  Woodford  only  noticed  my  tearful  face  by  re- 
doubled gentleness  and  courtesy ;  Ruth  glanced  at  me 
anxiously  from  time  to  time,  but  asked  no  questions 
even  by  her  looks. 

As  we  rose  from  the  table  I  said  to  Mr.  Woodford : 

"  Can  you  conveniently  take  me  to  see  Mr.  Strong 
this  afternoon  ?  " 

He  looked  surprised. 

*'  You  are  not  fit  to  go  out,"  he  replied.  "  Mr. 
Strong  would  come  to  see  you,  I  am  sure.  Let  me 
send  for  him." 

*'  No,  I  prefer  to  go  to  him." 

Nothing  more  was  said.  When  we  reached  the 
parsonage  Mrs.  Strong  came  out  to  meet  us,  saying 
that  Mr.  Strong  had  gone  to  visit  a  sick  person  and 
would  not  be  back  for  an  hour  or  more. 

"  It  is  Deacon  Stone's  wife,"  she  added.  "  You 
have  probably  heard  how  sick  she  is." 

No,  I  had  not  heard. 

Mr.  Woodford  asked  me  if  I  chose  to  wait  until  .. 
Mr.  Strong's  return,  and  Mrs.  Strong  pressed  me  \ 
cordially  to  do  so. 

I  begged  Mr.  Woodford  to  leave  me,  and  to  send 
for  me  before  night. 


XX. 

KEZIA  HEARS  FROM   PEMAQUID. 

SAKES  alive  !  Look  here,  mother !  Our  Ruth's 
gone  and  forgiv'  Frank  Weston,  and  they're  coo- 
in'  together  like  two  young  turtle  doves.  But  'tvvon't 
last,  you  mark  my  words ;  'twon't  last.  There  aint 
no  dependence  to  be  placed  on  that  good-for-naught. 

There,  didn't  I  tell  you  so?  That  ere  spark  of  our 
Ruth's  has  been  an'  jilted  her  wuss'n  ever,  and  he 
and  Juliet's  run  away!  I  guess  they'd  have  run 
tighter  than  they  did  if  Fd  been  around.  Wouldn't 
I  have  liked  to  be  after  them  with  a  horsewhip, 
and  have  licked  'em  out  of  town  !  And  as  if  'twasn't 
enough  to  rob  our  Ruth  of  her  spark,  Juliet's  robbed 
"her  ma  out  of  all  the  money  she'd  laid  up  by  scrimpin' 
and  pinchin'.  Oh,  what  a  faculty  she  had  for  scrimp- 
in'  !  She  was  the  snuggest  woman  I  ever  see.  And 
now  that  bad  girl  has  run  off  with  every  cent.  I'm 
proper  glad.  It  served  her  right.  Why,  what  can 
people  expect  when  they  bring  up  their  children 
so  sinful  ? 

They  say  Mis'  Woodford  went  into  fits  when  she 

found  her  money  was  gone.     She  had  an  idea  she 

(228) 


KEZIA  HEARS  FROM  PEMAQUID.      229 

was  a-savin'  of  it  for  Juliet,  and  then  when  it  came 
to  the  scratch,  she  found  she'd  been  a-savin'  of  it  for 
herself. 

What's  that?  It  aint  consistent  to  be  so  glad 
when  people  gits  into  trouble?  La,  mother,  every- 
body's jist  so,  only  they  darsent  show  it  out  as  I  do. 
You're  as  glad  as  I  be,  and  the  Lord  He  knows  it,  for 
He  looks  at  the  heart.  Why,  when  the  Widder  Lar- 
rabee  tumbled  down  on  the  ice,  on  the  way  to  meet- 
in',  you  was  as  pleased  as  parsnips ;  you  enjoyed 
seein'  her  heels  fly  up,  and  her  specs  fly  off,  and  her 
hymn-book  go  rollin'  down  the  hill ;  you  can't  deny 
it.  'Taint  in  human  natur'  not  to  like  to  see  folks  get 
their  dues.  Have  I  got  to  set  down  and  cry  like  a 
crocodile  'cause  Mis'  Woodford's  got  what  belongs  to 
her  ?  Who  give  her  her  dues  ?  W^asn't  it  Provi- 
dence ?     And  am  I  to  fly  out  ag'inst  Providence  ? 

I  shall  have  to  spend  a  day  of  fastin'  and  prayer  if 
I  cherish  such  an  ungodly  spirit  ?  Well,  I'd  rather 
spend  ten  days  a-fastin'  and  a-prayin'  than  not  to  ha' 
got  this  news  about  Mis'  Woodford.  Nothin'  never 
done  me  so  much  good. 

I  don't  seem  to  have  no  feelin'  for  our  Ruth  ?  Am 
I  to  cry  my  eyes  out  because  a  kind  Providence  has 
rid  her  of  a  whiffle-whaffle  of  a  fellow  that  didn't 
know  his  own  mind  two  minutes  runnin'  ? 

She'll  be  feehn'  awful  ?  Well,  what  of  that  ?  Her 
bad  feelins'U  be  sanctified  to  her.  She'll  live  to  be 
glad  on  'em.     Bad  feelin's  is  a  blessin'. 


230  PEMAQUID. 

Mebbe  Mis'  Woodford's  troubles'll  be  blessed  to 
her?   Mebbe  they  will;  /sha'n't  do  nothin'  to  hinder. 
Sings : 

Two  birds  as  black  as  crows  has  flew 

Away  from  Pemaquid, 
And  left  a  little  snow-white  lamb 

A  bleating  there  instid. 
Bleat  away,  poor  little  lamb. 

To  hear  you  grieves  me  sore  ; 
But  there's  a  land  where  sighs  shall  cease. 

And  sorrows  be  no  more. 
Mis'  Woodford  she  may  weep  and  groan, 

And  she  may  tear  her  hair, 
It  serves  her  right,  and  not  a  rush 

Does  old  Keziey  care. 
I  see  the  Hand  of  Providence 

A  guidin'  of  us  all, 
I  see  His  stripes  a  fallin'  fast. 

Upon  the  great  and  small ; 
I  see  Him  turnin'  pitiful. 

And  comfortin'  of  Ruth, 
And  givin'  back  to  that  sweet  maid 

Her  roses  and  her  youth  ; 
I  see  the  earth  that  swallered  up 

Bad  Korah  and  his  crew, 
A  openin'  wide  to  swallow  up 

Another  wicked  two ; 
So  g\ory,  glory  be  to  God 

Who  can't  make  no  mistake  ; 
A  better  woman  may  His  hand 

Of  old  Kezia  make  ! 

MRS.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 
Mrs.  Strong  took  me  into  her  small  sitting-room 
and  said  very  kindly:  "  I  am  sure  I  need  not  tell  you 


MJ^S.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  231 

that  we  are  fellow-sufferers.  Frank  was  very  dear  to 
me  and  to  my  husband  also.  His  wavering,  uncertain 
course  gave  us  a  good  deal  of  anxiety,  it  is  true ;  but 
he  was  a  warm-hearted,  lovable  boy,  and  we  expected 
a  good  deal  from  him.  I  could  not  have  believed 
him  capable  of  the  unmanly  conduct  he  has  been 
guilty  of.  Excuse  my  speaking  on  the  subject,"  she 
continued.  "  It  fills  my  thoughts,  and  it  is  to  con- 
verse on  it  with  Mr.  Strong  that  you  come,  I  con- 
clude." 

"  No,  I  came  on  a  more  serious  errand.  Mrs. 
Strong,  do  you  know  anything  of  my  past  life  ?  My 
life  before  I  came  to  Pemaquid?" 

She  colored  and  looked  embarrassed.  But  seeing 
me  resolved  to  have  an  answer,  she  said,  ''  Do  not  let 
us  talk  of  those  painful  things.  I  assure  you  it  is 
many  years  since  a  word  on  the  subject  has  passed 
my  lips." 

Many  years  again.  I  was  weak  and  spent  with 
watching  through  the  night,  and  could  not  control 
myself.  She  burst  into  tears  almost  simultaneously 
with  me. 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  so  sorry  for  yo  j,"  she  said.  "  We 
have  both  pitied  you  so.  We  have  so  longed  to  speak 
a  word  of  comfort  to  you." 

"  Tell  me,  only  tell  me  what  you  know ;  what  my 
husband  knows,  everything.  And  oh,  Mrs.  Strong, 
do  not  spare  me.     Tell  me  the  whole  truth." 

"  I  will,"  she  said.    *'  You  remember  a  woman  call- 


232  FEMAQUID. 

ed  Polly  Hanson,  who  died  here  so  long  ago  ?  When 
she  was  taken  sick  her  mind  ran  much  on  past  events 
in  her  history,  and  among  other  things  on  wdiat  she 
knew  of  yours.  The  doctor,  dear  good  man,  finding 
some  of  the  neighbors  were  getting  hold  of  the  story, 
came  to  consult  Mr.  Strong  as  to  what  was  best  to  be 
done.  We  thought  Ave  could  remove  her  to  our  house 
and  keep  her  from  seeing  persons  who  would  make  a 
bad  use  of  her  revelations.  We  did  so  at  once,  and 
she  died  here.  We  allowed  no  one  to  enter  her  room 
save  ourselves.  Mr.  Woodford  heard  rumors  of  what 
was  going  on,  and  we  had  to  let  him  question  and  try 
to  silence  her.  There  was  some  gossip  about  the  vil- 
lage for  several  months  after  her  death,  but  by  degrees, 
seeing  Mr.  Woodford's  conduct  toward  you  un- 
changed, people  began  to  believe  that  Polly's  stories 
originated  in  her  own  brain,  and  the  whole  thing  was 
forgotten." 

"  And  knowing  what  I  was,  you  went  on  treating 
me  with  kindness  and  sympathy,"  I  cried.  "  And 
Mr.  Woodford,  oh,  why  did  he  not  trample  me  under 
foot  and  cast  me  from  his  door !  " 

She  looked  surprised  and  pained. 

"  We  only  did  to  you  what  we  would  have  had  you 
do  to  us,"  she  replied.  "And  as  to  Mr.  Woodford, 
oh,  he  is  so  truly  a  Christian  man  !  He  could  not 
fail  to  do  the  right  and  kind  and  beautiful  thing." 

I  could  only  weep  in  silence.  Where  was  my  con- 
tempt for  this  woman  who  had  nursed  a  miserable 


MES.    WOODFORD '  6*  JO  URNAL.  233 

dying  pauper  for  my  sake.  I  said  to  her  at  last,  very 
earnestly  :  "Did  Polly  Hanson  give  you  the  impres- 
sion that  I  was  guilty  oi crime?'' 

"Yes,"  she  said  reluctantly. 

"  And  may  I  tell  you  my  story,  exactly  as  it  is  ?  " 

She  gave  another  reluctant  consent,  and  I  spoke 
the  truth,  as  before  God. 

"  I  was  the  only  child  of  my  parents,  and  they  de- 
voted all  their  energies  to  preparing  me  for  this 
world.  I  was  educated  at  considerable  expense, 
and  taught  that  to  make  a  brilliant  marriage  was  to 
be  the  business  of  my  life.  Notwithstanding  their 
hopes  and  plans,  I  failed  to  do  so  at  the  early  age 
they  had  expected  it  of  me.  The  truth  was,  I  had 
met  secretly  a  young  artist  for  whom  I  had  conceived 
a  passion,  and  was  determined  to  give  myself  to  him. 
I  was  only  seventeen  years  old,  and  at  that  time  had 
had  no  occasion  to  learn  the  value  of  money  by  the 
want  of  it.  I  was  not  aware  that  my  parents  had 
spent  nearly  all  they  possessed  on  my  education,  ex- 
pecting a  return  in  seeing  me  well  established  for  life. 
They  were  beginning  to  feel  the  pressure  of  want 
when  a  rich  old  man  named  Grigs  proposed  for  me. 
He  was  repugnant  to  me,  but  what  with  tears  and 
prayers  and  dismal  pictures  of  coming  ruin,  they  per- 
suaded and  frightened  me  into  the  marriage.  For  a 
little  time  my  new  position  dazzled  and  pleased  me. 
Then  I  began  to  grow  weary  and  to  yearn  for  some- 
thing real  and  substantial  amid  all  this  pretense  of 


234  PEMAQUID. 

felicity.  That  yearning  summoned  the  young  artist 
to  my  side  by  some  mysterious  agency.  I  saw  him 
at  first  only  as  a  friend.  He  gave  me  lessons  in 
drawing,  with  my  husband's  knowledge  and  approba- 
tion. It  was  in  a  thoughtless,  reckless  moment  that 
I  let  him  persuade  me  to  elope  with  him.  I  was  will- 
ing to  face  any  misery  rather  than  the  pain  of  not 
having  him  continually  near  me.  In  intention  I  sin- 
ned. But  this  woman,  Polly  Hanson,  had  her  eye  on 
me,  and  before  I  could  carry  out  my  plan  she  betrayed 
me  to  my  husband.  They  both  believed  me  to  be  more 
guilty  than  I  was,  and  I  was  cast  out  of  my  home 
disgraced.  I  could  not  go  to  my  mother  for  shelter 
and  sympathy,  for  she  was  dead ;  not  to  my  father's 
compassion,  for  he  declared  I  had  killed  my  mother. 
People  vied  with  each  other  who  should  cast  the  first 
stone.  My  fancied  lover  fled  from  the  avenger  to 
Europe.  I  lost  husband,  father,  mother,  lover,  at 
one  stroke.  Then  pride  came  to  the  rescue.  I  hard- 
ened myself  to  meet  my  fate.  It  was  easy  to  disap- 
pear from  the  scene  of  my  disgrace,  and  under  a  new 
name  to  begin  life  afresh.  I  wandered  away  to  a 
distant  town,  opened  a  school,  and  led  a  peaceable 
and  harmless  existence  there.  People  supposed  me 
to  be  a  young  widow.  Juliet  was  born  there  amid 
scenes  of  poverty  and  want.  My  school  was  broken 
up  by  her  birth  ;  I  was  unknown  and  friendless ;  it 
was  nobody's  business  to  look  after  me,  and  I  suf- 
fered for  the  bare  necessities  of  life.     It  was  thus  the 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  235 

iron  of  poverty  entered  my  soul.  I  conceived  a  hor- 
ror of  it  that  wrought  itself  into  my  very  being  and 
became  a  part  of  myself.  Oh,  Mrs,  Strong,  I  was 
only  eighteen,  and  cares  sit  like  a  nightmare  upon 
the  young.  I  roused  myself  and  rose  above  all  the 
circumstances  that  dragged  me  down.  I  became  cool, 
crafty,  and  circumspect.  My  beauty  and  my  youth 
remained  to  me,  my  two  staunch  friends.  I  had  an- 
other in  my  dauntless  courage.  So  it  came  about  nat- 
urally enough  that  I  should  marry  again.  I  had  lost 
all  faith  in  men  ;  I  was  drifting  about  at  everybody's 
mercy  ;  I  could  have  a  dishonest  home,  but  I  scorned 
iniquity  like  that,  and  cast  about  me  for  an  honest 
one.  Into  that  home  I  carried  nothing  but  misery." 
"  Stop !  "  she  said.  "■  You  carried  pain  there,  but 
not  misery.  No  one  is  miserable  who  can  stay  him- 
self on  God  as  Mr.  Woodford  can,  and  who  can  make 
hundreds  of  hearts  sing  for  joy  as  he  has  done.  If 
you  had  known  him  better,  and  trusted  him,  and  told 
him  your  story  as  you  have  to  me — I  know  his  great, 
warm  heart — he  would  have  spared  you  all  this  de- 
ception and  self-contempt.  Yet  more,  if  you  had 
known  God,  and  trusted  Him,  and  left  all  your  cares 
in  His  hand,  whose  heart  is  wider  and  warmer  than 
all  the  hearts  in  the  world  put  together,  how  much 
suffering  you  might  have  been  spared !  But  do  not 
be  discouraged.  He  has  brought  you  down  so  low 
only  to  lift  you  up.  He  makes  excuses  for  you  that 
no  poor  human  being  can.     Suppose  you  see  Father 


236  PEMAQUID. 

Strong,  and  let  him  comfort  you  ?  He  would  delight 
to  do  it.  He  is  the  sunbeam  of  our  house,  running 
over  with  love  for  all  God's  creatures.  Will  you 
go?" 

I  said,  feebly,  that  I  would  go  anywhere  and  to 
anybody  who  could  pity  and  help  me. 

She  took  me  to  his  room.  He  is  very  deaf,  but 
Mrs.  Strong  made  him  understand  that  here  was 
some  one  in  sore  trouble,  and  left  us  alone  together. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  dear  child,"  he  said. 
*'  I  don't  know  what  your  trouble  is,  but  I'm  well 
acquainted  with  One  who  does,  and  He'll  comfort 
you.  You  just  go  and  tell  Him  all  about  it ;  don't 
leave  anything  out  because  you're  afraid  it  might 
look  small  to  Him  ;  nothing  looks  small  in  His  eyes 
that  grieves  the  souls  He  has  made.  You  must  go 
to  the  throne  of  His  grace  as  bold  as  a  lion  and  as 
meek  as  a  lamb.  You  must  remind  Him  of  the 
promises  He  has  made,  and  plead  them  before  Him." 

''  Oh,"  I  said,  ''  I  do  not  know  how." 

"  Dear  child,  I  will  show  you  how.     Say  to  Him, 

*  Be  not  far  from  me,  for  trouble  is  near.'  And  He 
will  say,  '  Lo,  I  am  with  you  always,  even  unto  the 
end  of  the  world.'  Say,  '  Remember  not  the  sins  of 
my  youth,  nor  my  transgressions.'  And  He  will  reply, 

*  I,  even  I,  am  He  that  blotteth  out  thy  transgres- 
sions for  mine  own  sake,  and  will  not  remember  thy 

■  sins.'  Say,  '■  Turn  Thee  unto  me,  and  have  mercy 
upon  me,  for  I  am  desolate  and  afflicted/     And  just 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  237 

hear  His  answer :  '  As  one  whom  his  mother  comfort- 
eth,  so  will  I  comfort  you.'  Tell  Him  that  He  has 
chastened  you  sore.  And  He  will  answer,  '  I  will 
bring  the  third  part  through  the  fire,  and  will  refine 
them  as  silver  is  refined,  and  will  try  them  as  gold  is 
tried.'  Tell  Him  that  fearfulness  and  trembling  are 
come  upon  you,  and  hear  His  answer,  *  Fear  not,  for 
I  have  redeemed  thee.  I  have  called  thee  by  name. 
Thou  art  Mine.'  " 

"  But  I  have  been  such  a  sinner.  You  never  heard 
of  such  a  sinner." 

"  Maybe  not,  dear  child,  but  He  has.  Hear  what 
He  says  about  it :  '  Thou  hast  destroyed  thyself,  but 
in  Me  is  thy  help.'  *  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for 
they  shall  be  comforted.'  '  To  this  man  will  I  look, 
even  to  him  that  is  poor  and  of  a  contrite  spirit,  and 
trembleth  at  My  word.'  " 

So  he  went  on  for  hours,  pouring  in  oil  and  wine  out 
of  the  treasure-house  of  his  memory,  and  touching 
the  sore  spots  in  my  soul,  as  the  tenderest  mother 
touches  her  new-born  child.  I  knelt  down  before 
this  aged  saint,  and  asked  for  his  blessing.  A  more 
broken-hearted  penitent  never  knelt  to  mortal  man. 

He  rose  up,  laid  his  fatherly  hand  on  my  bowed 
head,  and  said:  "The  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep 
thee !  The  Lord  make  His  face  to  shine  upon 
thee,  and  be  gracious  unto  thee  !  The  Lord  lift  up 
His  countenance  upon  thee,  and  give  thee  peace ! 
Amen." 


XXI. 

•     "Behold,  all  things  are  become  new." 

ruth's  journal. 

SOMETHING  like  a  miracle  has  taken  place  in  this 
house.  Mother  has  become  a  Christian.  I  do  not 
know  exactly  how  it  began,  but  Juliet's  going  away 
was  a  great  blow  to  her,  and  at  first  she  was  very, 
very  angry,  and  kept  saying  she  never  Avould  forgive 
her.  I  think  father  must  have  said  something  to  her 
about  that,  for  all  of  a  sudden  she  began  to  shut  her- 
self up  in  her  room,  and  when  she  came  out  it  was 
plain  she  had  been  crying  dreadfully.  Since  she 
came  here  she  has  never  cried  before  that  I  know  of. 
And  besides  crying,  she  seemed  sort  of  broken  down 
and  tender,  and  would  keep  going  to  see  Mr.  Strong, 
and  having  him  come  here.  If  Mr.  Strong  was  out 
,when  she  went  there,  she  would  talk  with  Mrs. 
Strong  by  the  hour  together.  That  struck  me,  for  I 
know  she  never  could  bear  Mrs.  Strong. 

At  last  she  spoke  to  me  all  of  her  own  accord.    She 

said  father  had  broken  her  heart  by  forgiving  her  some 
(338) 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  239 

dreadful  things  she  had  done  to  him,  and  that  that 
had  set  her  to  thinking.  And  growing  sorrowful  as 
she  got  to  thinking,  she  went  to  praying ;  and  that 
made  her  still  more  sorrowful.  She  would  tell  father 
every  wrong  thing  she  had  done,  though  he  did  not  like 
to  have  her  do  it,  because  he  said  his  charity  was  not 
equal  to  God's.  Well,  if  father  is  lacking  in  charity, 
what  of  the  rest  of  us  ?  She  says  it  is  his  life  that  has 
preached  to  her,  and  Mr.  Strong's  life,  and  Mrs. 
Strong's,  and  even  mine !  Who  could  get  lower 
than  that?  One  night  she  could  not  sleep,  her 
misery  was  so  great,  and  father  was  praying  with 
her,  and  reading  the  Bible,  and  crying  by  turns,  for 
father  is  just  like  a  woman  when  anything  touches 
him.  Mother  became  just  as  meek  and  humble  as  a 
little  child.  It  made  me  cry  whenever  she  spoke  to 
me.  And  she  was  so  earnest  about  learning  the  right 
way  that  she  even  would  ask  me  to  help  her. 

And  now  while  I  am  writing  this  at  one  end  of  the 
table,  she  is  sitting  at  the  other  end  with  the  Bible 
before  her,  looking  so  peaceful  and  satisfied  that  I 
can't  believe  it's  mother.  And  father  takes  such 
comfort  in  her !  He  has  got  one  of  her  hands  in  his 
now,  and  I  never  saw  him  do  that  before.  If  things 
had  gone  smooth  with  Frank  and  me,  perhaps  this 
would  never  have  come  to  pass.  But  Juliet's  going 
off  with  him  seemed  to  be  just  the  last  drop  pool 
mother  needed  to  fill  her  cup  with  disappointment 
and  bitterness. 


240  FEMAQUID. 

We  talk  a  good  deal  now  of  Juliet.  Mother  says 
It  is  all  her  fault  that  she  has  turned  out  so.  Slie 
says  she  never  taught  her  anything  that  was  right, 
and  all  the  wonder  is  that  things  are  no  worse.  Poor 
Juhet !  I  wonder  she  doesn't  write  to  us  and  let  us 
know  where  she  is. 

Mother  does  not  write  in  her  Journal  now  as  much 
as  she  did.  She  says  she  does  not  need  that  comfort 
because  she  has  so  many  others.  But  she  has  written 
a  long  letter  to  Samuel,  telling  him  all  that  has  happen- 
ed to  us,  and  beseeching  him  to  come  home.  I  never 
knew  till  she  told  me  that  it  was  something  she  did 
that  angered  him  and  drove  him  away.  It  is  a  long 
time  since  we,  any  of  us,  heard  from  Samuel,  but 
father  knows  where  he  is,  and  thinks  that  after 
mother's  letter  he  certainly  will  come. 

Dear  father  seems  so  conj;entcd  and  happy  now. 
Only  now  and  then,  when  he  looks  at  me,  he  clouds 
up  and  sighs.  I  must  try  to  be  cheerful  and  pleasant, 
so  that  he  need  not  be  grieving  so  for  me. 

It  is  a  good  while  since  I  wrote  that.  I  have  had 
too  much  to  do  and  too  much  to  think  of  to  feel  like 
writing.  In  the  first  place  it  is  so  nice  about  mother. 
Nobody  would  believe  how  changed  she  is.  She  is 
just  as  gentle  and  hum.ble  as  a  little  child.  She  has 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Strong  to  tea  just  as  often  as  father 
wants,  and  we  have  meetings  here,  and  mother  acts 
as  if  she  had  lived  in  Pemaquid  all  her  life,  and  liked 


R  UTH  'S  JO  U RIVAL.  241 

Pemaquld  ways  and  Woodford  ways.     But  I've  got 

something  else  to  put  do-\v'n  that  is  even  stranger  than 

that.    We've  got  a  baby  here.    It's  three  months  ago 

to-night  that,  just  as  we  were  sitting  down  to  tea,  the 

stage  drove  up  to  the  door  and  a  man  got  out  with 

something  wrapped  carefully  in  his  arm.s.     We  all  left 

the  table  and  ran  to  the  door.    I'm  sure  I  don't  know 

w^iat  I  thought,  but  I  thought  of  everybody  before 

I    thought  of  Samuel,  and   when   he  came   in   and 

walked  straight  up  to  mother  and  kissed  her,  and  she 

held  out  her  arms  and   he  put  a  baby  into  them,  we 

all  just  burst  out  crying  together. 

I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but   I  suppose  it's  being 

round  so  much  among  the  sick,  the  first  look  I  took 

of  Samuel,   standing  there  so  pale  and  quiet,  went 

through  me  like  a  knife.      I  knew  he  hadn't  come 

home  to  stay.     I  knew  v/hat  hand  had  got  hold  of 

him,  and  that  it  v/asn't  a  hand  we  coujd  snatch  him 

from.     Father  and  mother  were  too  glad  to  see  what 

I  saw.     Father  only  saw  his  son  come  back  to  him, 

and  mother  only  saw  that  she  was  forgiven.     I  don't 

know  which  of  us  made  the  most  of  a  time  over  the 

baby.     Father  got  it  away  from  mother,  and  cried 

over  it  and  laughed  over  it  ;  and  I  got  it  away  from 

father,  and  ran  into  the  kitchen  and  mixed  a  little 

cream  with  warm  water  to  feed  it  with,  and  got  out 

what   it  needed   from  its   father's  carpet-bag — for  of 

course  he  was  its  father ;  but  if  he  was,  where  v/as  its 

mother,  poor  little  darling  ? 
li 


242  PEMAQUID. 

Such  a  happy  time  as  we  had  round  the  table  that 
night !  Samuel  got  quite  a  color  when  he  had  his 
tea  and  some  of  the  bread  and  butter  he  had  been 
brought  up  on,  and  I  began  to  think  I  might  have 
thought  too  much  of  his  looking  sick.  He  said  noth- 
ing about  the  baby's  mother,  only  he  told  us  he  had 
come  home  for  good,  and  that  he  was  going  to  give 
the  baby  to  me  when  he  had  done  with  it.  That 
night  I  went  up  to  bed  as  proud  and  as  rich  as  a 
queen,  with  the  little  thing  in  my  arms,  and  father 
following  after  to  give  all  sorts  of  advice  about  it, 
and  mother  taking  its  clothes  out  of  its  trunk  and 
filling  all  the  chairs  with  piles  of  little  frocks  and 
such  things.  Samuel  went  to  bed  early,  in  his  own 
room  ;  for  mother,  after  she  wrote  to  him  to  come 
home,  had  kept  it  in  order  with  her  own  hands.  The 
next  day  Samuel  told  us  all  that  had  happened  to 
him  since  the  day  he  had  left  Pemaquid.  How  he 
had  gone  into  business,  and  been  married,  and  how 
his  dear  little  wife  had  made  a  new  home  for  him  in 
place  of  the  one  he  had  lost,  till  at  last  the  baby 
came  to  make  everything  pleasanter  even  than  it  was 
before.  But  whether  it  was  the  climate  he  had  taken 
her  to,  or  what  it  was,  he  couldn't  say — the  baby  was 
only  a  few  months  old  when  its  pretty  young  mother 
died.  At  that  very  time  came  mother's  letter  beg- 
ging him  to  forgive  her,  and  to  come  home.  So  he 
had  settled  up  his  affairs,  and  taken  his  little  mother- 
less child  in  his  arms,  trusting  it  to  no  other  care  till 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  243 

he  fairly  could  put  it  right  into  ours.  It  was  wonder- 
ful to  see  how  handy  he  was  with  the  baby,  and  how 
he  loved  it ;  but  it  isn't  in  nature  for  men  to  be  con- 
fined with  such  cares,  and  by  degrees  I  got  my  dar- 
ling all  to  myself,  to  lie  on  my  arm  all  night,  to  feed 
and  to  wash  and  to  dress,  and'  to  be  just  the  same  as 
my  own  baby — only  father  would  give  a  good  deal 
of  advice,  and  would  have  the  little  fellow  take  his 
naps  in  his  arms,  and  would  teach  him  all  sorts  of 
bad  habits  by  walking  up  and  down  with  him  by  the 
hour  together.  And  mother,  who  hates  to  sew,  fell 
to  making  short  frocks  in  place  of  the  long  ones,  so 
that  he  could  have  room  to  kick  and  to  grow ;  and 
when  we  got  him  into  them,  and  put  on  his  shoes 
and  stockings,  it's  a  wonder  the  bells  of  the  meeting- 
house did  not  ring  of  their  own  accord ! 

Samuel  looks  better  than  he  did  when  he  came 
home,  and  does  not  complain  of  anything.  Some- 
times I  think  I  was  too  much  frightened  about  him 
the  night  he  got  home.  But  then  again  when  I  hear 
his  prayers  in  the  family  and  at  the  conference  meet- 
ings, I  can  see  that  he's  getting  ripe  for  heaven,  and 
won't  be  able  to  keep  away  from  it  much  longer. 
Father  does  not  mistrust  it.  He  takes  solid  comfort 
in  Samuel,  and  consults  him  about  everything.  He 
wants  to  turn  over  all  his  business  into  Samuel's 
hands;  but  Samuel  puts  him  off  from  day  to  day, 
and  nothing  is  settled  between  them. 


244  PEMAQUID. 

MRS.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 

The  repose  I  have  been  vainly  seeking  so  many 
years  has  at  last  come  to  me.  My  burden  fell  from 
my  shoulders  as  did  Christian's  at  the  sight  of  the 
cross.  After  carrying  it  so  long,  I  feel  now  like  one 
who  treads  on  air.  Yet  the  remembrance  of  what  is 
past ;  the  wrong  I  have  done  to  others,  and  the  sin 
of  which  I  have  been  guilty,  these  must  cost  me  life- 
long sorrow.  But  I  bless  God,  who  led  my  weary 
footsteps  to  this  little  Puritan  village,  and  brought 
me  under  the  influence  of  some  of  the  best  people  the 
world  contains.  I  can  see  now  that  their  power  over 
me,  the  power  of  their  godly  lives,  began  almost  im- 
mediately. I  resisted  it  with  all  my  might ;  but, 
blessed  be  God,  its  dominion  became  daily  more 
powerful.  Oh,  that  I  had  begun  in  the  days  of  my 
early  youth  to  walk  in  the  path  I  now  find  so  pleasant ! 
By  what  strange  infatuation  was  I  led  to  avoid  the 
first  steps  that  could  lead  to  peace — repentance  and 
confession  ? 

Having  now  consecrated  myself  publicly  and 
solemnly  to  God,  and  being  resolved  in  His  strength 
to  live  to  and  for  Him,  I  desire  also  to  be  to  my  long- 
suffering  husband  all  I  can  become  for  his  highest 
happiness  and  best  good.  I  desire  to  make  his  home 
the  truly  Christian,  happy  home  he  expected  I  would 
do  when,  in  a  moment  of  strange  infatuation,  he 
asked  me  to  become  his  wife.     May  God  help  me  to 


MRS.    WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL.  245 

cleave  to  this  desire  till  it  becomes  interwoven  into 
my  very  being,  and  proves  to  be  a  part  of  myself. 

Our  family  has  become  somewhat  re-united.  Samuel 
has  come  home,  bringing  with  him  his  little  boy,  a 
genial,  healthy  child,  who  is  like  a  broad  ray  of  sun- 
shine on  the  path  of  every  one  of  us.  Samuel  is  still 
like  his  father.  I  have  the  undeserved  comfort  of 
having  his  confidence,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  his 
affection.  He  calls  me  mother,  and  talks  with  me 
frankly  and  fully  about  the  past  and  the  future.  I 
suppose  it  is  the  early  sorrow  through  Vv^iich  he  has 
passed  that  gives  him  so  light  a  hold  on  this  world. 
Some  of  his  expressions  remind  me  of  his  mother. 
Ah  !  I  have  been  reading  with  new  eyes  that  saintly 
record  of  hers.  No  wonder  that  I  was  stirred  to  my 
very  foundations  when,  on  that  dreary  Sunday  long 
ago,  I  looked  idly  over  its  pages  ! 

I  feel  satisfied  that  Samuel  w^ill  only  gladden  his 
father's  life  a  little  while.  He  seems  to  me  very  ill. 
Nothing  we  can  procure  tempts  his  appetite,  though 
when  he  first  came  home  he  did,  for  a  little  time,  seem 
to  enjoy  our  country  fare.  We  need  Kezia's  skillful 
hands  now.  It  is  next  to  impossible  to  fill  her  place. 
All  the  girls  rush  into  the  factory,  and  Ruth  has  to 
spend  much  of  her  time  in  the  kitchen.  Dear,  good 
child  !  The  baby,  who  is  her  special  charge,  is  gradu- 
ally weaning  her  from  Frank,  and  one  nov/  hears  her 
singing  about  the  house  almost  as  gayly  as  ever. 
Almost !     But  there  is  a  difference. 


246  PEMAQUID. 

I  hear  next  to  nothing  from  Juliet.  There  is  only 
one  thing  I  can  do  for  her,  and  that  is  to  pray  that 
God  will  open  her  eyes  and  touch  her  heart  and  bring 
her  to  repentance.  She  is  my  only  care  now,  and  that 
care  I  have  ceased  to  bear  alone. 

Take  us  altogether  we  are  a  happy  family.  I  see 
now  that  real  blessedness  may  be  built  up  on  the 
ruins  of  fancied  felicity ;  nay,  may  exist  in  the  very 
midst  of  much  outward  trial. 

Ruth  has  gone  for  some  days  to  take  charge  of  a 
sick  friend,  and  I  am  left  to  care  for  her  precious  baby. 
How  differently  I  shall  do  my  share  of  his  training 
from  the  miserable  one  I  gave  my  own  poor  child  !  It 
was  her  mother  who  taught  her  to  despise  religion,  to 
yield  to  her  evil  passions,  to  play  the  hypocrite.  She 
was  not  born  more  depraved  than  other  girls ;  but  I 
never  cultivated  her  conscience,  never  taught  her  to 
pray,  never  led  her  to  hve  for  anything  but  herself; 
and  she  is  living  now  on  money  obtained  by  me 
through  mean  economies  and  petty  fraud. 

As  I  look  into  the  baby's  innocent  face  I  recall  a 
time  when  my  baby's  was  as  innocent.  Oh,  my  poor 
Juliet ;  day  and  night  I  will  plead  for  you  till  you, 
too,  come  to  the  repentance  that,  if  it  has  its  bitter 
moments,  has  thousands  that  are  sweet. 


XXII. 

"  I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep." 

"And  will  they  come  when  you  do  call  for  them?" 

Sometimes  they  do. 

MRS.  WOODFORD   TAKES    TEA  AT  THE    PARSONAGE. 

I  WOULD  not  trust  any  one  to  tell  the  news,  dear 
Mrs.  Strong,  and  have  come  to  spend  the  after- 
noon, and  if  you  ask  me  to  stay  to  tea  I  shall. 

*'  Ruth  had  to  give  up  her  precious  baby  to  me,  and 
go  to  nurse  Mercy  Sutton. 

"You  did  not  know  she  was  sick?  Well,  she  is,  and 
nobody  would  suit  her  but  Ruth.  I  am  not  very 
handy  with  babies,  but  this  little  fellow  is  no  trouble 
at  all.  I  was  sitting  with  him  on  my  lap  when  our 
girl  came  in  and  said  she  was  going  to  leave ;  she 
never  could  abide  a  baby,  it  made  so  much  washing ; 
and  she  must  look  for  a  place  where  there  wasn't  no 
young  ones.  I  begged  her  to  stay  till  Ruth  came 
home ;  but  no,  go  she  must,  and  go  she  would.  She 
said  she  thought  her  health  would  be  better  if  she 
went  South.  I  asked  her  how  far  south,  and  she  said 
to  Kennebunk  Port. 

"  It  was  awkward,  being  left  alone,  especially  as  I  am 

(247) 


248  PEMAQUID. 

no  cook  ;  but  I  thought  I  would  do  the  best  I  could. 
Samuel  and  his  father  would  relieve  me  in  the  care 
of  baby,  and  as  there  was  no  coffee  for  next  day's 
breakfast,  I  knew  I  must  roast  some  in  the  afternoon. 
This  is  work  I  particularly  dislike,  for  I  never  do 
it  well ;  all  my  performances  in  the  kitchen  are  awk- 
ward for  want  of  early  training  in  household  duties. 

"As  I  opened  the  kitchen  door  I  stood  spell-bound 
on  the  threshold.  There  sat  Kezia,  in  her  old  seat, 
with  the  very  checked  apron  she  had  on  the  day  she 
left  us,  engaged  in  looking  over  the  coffee  which  had 
just  come  in  from  the  Deacon's  store. 

"  She  just  glanced  up  from  her  work  on  seeing  me, 
and  went  on  with  it  with  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  'There's  stones  enough  in  this  'ere  coffee  to  build 
a  tomb  with,'  said  she.  '  The  Deacon  ought  to  know 
better  than  to  send  us  such  stuff.  I've  a  good  mind 
to  carry  it  all  back,  only  there  aint  none  for  breakfast, 
and  it's  rather  late  to  go  and  come  this  afternoon.' 

"  I  fell  into  her  humor  at  once.  If  she  chose  to  for- 
get she  had  ever  left  us,  well  and  good. 

"  '■  I'm  afraid  there  isn't  bread  enough  for  breakfast, 
either,'  I  said,  nonchalantly,  though  it  was  vvdth  a 
sigh  of  relief  I  mentally  welcomed  the  good  old 
creature  back  again. 

" '  I  guess  you  won't  starve  under  me  ! '  she  re- 
turned.    '  Don't  you  bother  about  nothin'.' 

"  And  to  be  sure,  there  sat  the  big  bread  pan,  cov- 
ered w^ith  its  snowy  cloth,  as  in  the  long-gone  days. 


AT   THE  PARSONAGE.  249 

" '  I  guess  it's  as  good  a  rising  of  bread  as  you've 
seen  this  many  a  day/  she  continued.  'But,  la! 
don't  you  stand  there  a-tiring  of  yourself;  I  rather 
think  I  know  the  way  about  this  house  by  this  time.' 

''  I  went  back  to  Samuel,  with  whom  I  had  left  the 
baby,  and,  snatching  it  from  him,  ran  with  it  to  the 
kitchen.  Kezia  dropped  her  coffee  and  jumped  up 
from  her  chair. 

"  '■  Is  he  your'n  ?  '  said  she. 

"  Her  assumed  character  was  all  gone  now.  Kezia, 
with  her  own  good,  big  heart  stood  before  me  with 
tears  sparkling  in  her  eyes. 

*' '  I'm  drcadfiilglTid  to  get  home  ! '  she  cried.  '  My ! 
what  legs  he's  got,  now,  aint  he?  It's  what  I've  al- 
ways said,  and  if  it  was  the  last  word  I  had  to  speak, 
I'd  say  the  same :  a  house  without  a  baby  aint  a 
house.  I  wouldn't  give  the  snap  o'  my  finger  for  it. 
Come  here  to  your  old  Kezey,  you  precious  little 
lamb,  you.  Oh,  you  and  me,  won't  we  have  times 
together? ' 

"  *  It's  Samuel's  baby,  you  know,'  I  said. 

"  '  La !  you  don't  say  so  ;  I  never  heerd  the  like ! 
All  I  heard  was  you'd  met  with  a  change;  and 
mother,  she  v/ent  to  live  with  my  brother  and  his 
wife ;  and  says  she,  "  Kezey,  you  go  back  and  see  if 
they'll  make  up  with  you."  And  so  I  came.  But  I 
never  heerd  nothing  about  no  baby !  ' 

^'^  By  this  time  Samuel  had  come  into  the  kitchen, 
and  was  laughed  and  cried  over  at  intervals,  while 


250  PEMAQUin. 

between  whiles  the  coffee  was  put  down  to  roast,  and 
had  a  vigorous  stir  every  other  minute. 

"  '  Here  comes  Mr.  Woodford  ;  he'll  be  glad  to  see 
you  back  again,  Kezia,'  I  said. 

" '  I  don't  want  to  see  him  this  afternoon,*  she  said, 
shrinking  back.  *  I  can't  stand  it  to  have  everything 
come  to  once.  That  *ere  baby's  near  about  upset  me. 
I  can't  see  the  coffee,  nor  nothing,  my  eyes  they  do 
plague  me  so.' 

"■  I  promised  not  to  tell  Mr.  Woodford  of  her  arrival, 
and  she  contrived  to  keep  out  of  his  way  till  the  next 
morning  at  breakfast,  when  she  came  dashing  in  with 
hot  biscuits,  and  her  usual  business  air,  and  the 
salutation : 

"  <  We're  most  out  o'  rye  meal,  Mr.  Woodford,  and 
you  may  as  well  get  a  barrel  of  flour  while  you're 
about  it ;  I've  only  got  a  handful  left.' 

"  Mr.  Woodford  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  looked 
at  her  with  mild  surprise.  For  a  moment  he  was  al- 
most deluded  into  the  belief  that  she  had  never  left 
us  ;  that  he  had  been  dreaming,  and  was  now  but  just 
awake.  He  glanced  helplessly  at  me,  then  at  Samuel ; 
our  impenetrable  faces  threw  no  light  on  his  perplex- 
ity. He  recovered  himself  almost  instantly,  and  said, 
with  a  smile : 

"  *  You  made  the  last  barrel  go  a  good  way,  Kezia  ; 
it's  more  than  ten  years  since  you  asked  for  a  new 
one.' 

"  She  smiled  grimly  and  got  out  of  the  room  ;  and 


RUTH'S  JOURNAL.  251 

when  we  burst  into  a  peal  of  happy  laughter,  we 
heard  her  join  in  the  chorus  from  the  kitchen  w4th 
right  good  will." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it  all.  The  family  is  com- 
plete now.     You'll  never  have  another  care.' 

"  No,  I  never  shall.  Kezia  is  getting  everything  into 
order,  as  of  old.  Her  tin  pans  are  almost  as  bright  as 
silver ;  you  might  eat  off  the  kitchen  floor ;  even  the 
tea-kettle  sings  a  new  song.  Then  she  knows  exact- 
ly what  to  make  for  Samuel,  to  tempt  his  appetite. 
She  has  thrown  all  the  'doctor's  stuff'  out  of  the 
window,  and  is  brewing  decoctions  of  her  own.  I  can 
not  help  hoping  she  may  bring  the  dear  boy  round." 

*'  I  don't  know  about  that.  It  seems  to  me  that 
he's  got  his  mother's  wings  tacked  to  his  shoulders, 
and  will  fly  up,  some  day,  as  she  did.  And  why  not? 
It  is  cruel  to  keep  people  out  of  heaven  who  want  to 
go  there." 

**  Ah,  but  you  are  doing  all  you  can  to  keep  Father 
Strong  out  of  it." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  it  is  such  a  blessing  to  have  such 
an  aged  saint  in  the  house.  By  the  by,  he  has  lent 
me  a  journal  to  read  ;  such  old-fashioned  spelling 
you  never  saw.  Take  it  home  and  show  it  to  Ruth, 
if  you  like." 

ruth's  journal. 

Dear  old  noisy,  bustling  Kezia  has  come  back !  It 
seems  too  good  to  be  true.    But  there  she  is,  rushing 


252  PEMAQUID. 

about  the  kitchen,  making  stacks  of  good  things, 
screeching  out  songs  till  she  makes  the  house  ring, 
and  just  about  distracted  about  the  baby.  Oh,  my 
baby !  How  little  I  thought  when  I  was  pining  my 
life  away  for  what  my  heavenly  Father  took  from  me 
in  mercy,  that  He  was  all  the  time  preparing  this 
beautiful  gift  for  mc.     It  makes  me  so  ashamed  ! 

Father  and  mother  took  tea  at  the  parsonage  last 
week,  and  Mrs.  Strong  lent  mother  a  printed  letter, 
or  sort  of  journal,  written  by  Father  Strong's  great- 
aunt,  on  a  journey  she  made  ever  and  ever  so  many 
years  ago.  If  it  amuses  me  so  much  now,  it  will 
sound  yet  more  quaint  and  funny  to  baby,  when  he 
grows  up  to  be  a  man.  So,  if  Father  Strong  is  will- 
ing, I  mean  to  get  a  blank-book  and  copy  out  some 
of  the  best  of  it  for  him.  I  mean  to  copy  out  for 
him  everything  I  can  get  hold  of  that  I  think  he  will 
enjoy  reading.  I  used  to 'think  I  should  have  chil- 
dren and  grandchildren.  But  I  never  shall  now. 
Baby  is  the  only  child  I  shall  ever  have.  That  does 
not  make  me  unhappy.  Nothing  does  now,  for  I  am 
satisfied  with  God. 

KEZIA   GOES   UP   TO   THE   STORE. 

'■'■  Well,  now,  Deacon  Stone,  have  I  bin  gone  ten 
year,  or  aint  I  bin  away  a  day?  It  seems  to  me  as  if 
I  hadn't  been  av/ay,  and  then  ag'in  as  if  I  had.  It 
beats  all !  Well,  there  warn't  no  baby  when  I  was 
here  afore ;  I  knovv^  that,  and  you  oughter  see  our'n. 


KEZIA  GOES  UP  TO  THE  STORE.       253 

"  What's  that  ?  All  babies  is  alike  ?  It's  no  such 
a  thing!  Our  baby  aint  like  any  other  in  the  'varsel 
world!  And  such  times  as  we're  havin'  to  our 
house  ! 

"  (I  want  six  nutmegs  and  a  stick  of  cinnamon.) 

'■'■  Why,  it's  as  easy  to  live  consistent  there  now  as 
down  to  the  meetin'-house  ! 

"  The  Squire,  his  face  it  shines  like  Moses  in  the 
burning  bush ;  his  prayers  is  all  turned  to  psalms, 
and  he's  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long. 

"(A  pound  of  raisins  and  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of 
currants). 

"  And  our  Ruth,  she  always  was  as  good  as  gold, 
but  now  she's  all  the  things  you  read  about  in  the 
Bible ;  not  that  I  pretend  I've  ever  see  any  of  'em, 
but  I  believe  my  Bible,  every  livin'  word  on  it,  and 
our  Ruth  is  all  made  of  precious  stones,  jasper  and 
sapphire  and  chalcedony  and  emerald  and  sardonyx 
and  jacinth  and  amethyst,  and  all  the  rest  of  'em 
that  I  disremember. 

"  You  believe  it  all,  and  could  take  your  Bible  oath 
on't,  and  she's  just  the  girl  for  your  'Siah? 

"She'll  never  look  at  your  'Siah  or  any  other  feller 
ag'in,  not  she  !  She's  fit  her  way  through  her  troubles 
like  a  soldier,  and  has  come  out  victorious  through 
Him  that  loved  her.  But  she  got  wounded  in  that 
'ere  battle  nigh  to  death,  and  she  couldn't  survive 
another  such  a  scrimmage,  no,  not  for  all  the  people 
of  the  male  persuasion  in  the  world,  except  babies. 


254  PEMAQUID. 

"  (Five  yards  of  that  'ere  calico). 

"  (A  skein  of  blue  yarn  and  a  ball  of  pipin'  cord). 

''  There's  no  manner  of  use  talkin'  'Siah  to  her,  and 
he'd  better  put  his  eye  on  somebody  of  his  own  kind  ; 
'Cindy  Muggs,  or  Cerinthy  Wiggins,  or  Jane  Ann 
Hobbs ;  they'd  all  of  them  have  him  and  divide  him 
among  'em  like  Turks  ;  or  is  it  Turkeys  ?  I  aint  got 
much  book  learnin'. 

"  Air  you  sure  you've  give  me  good  measure?  The 
last  pound  of  tea  weighed  light.  Well,  as  I  was 
sayin',  Mis'  Woodford  had  dropped  all  her  snug  ways, 
and  goes  around  among  the  widders,  carrying  of  'em 
such  comforts  as  lone  widders  needs ;  and  she  reads 
her  Bible  and  ses  her  prayers  and  lives  as  consistent 
as  any  other  member  of  the  Church. 

"  (A  bread-pan,  Deacon,  the  biggest  you've  got. 
Mis'  Woodford  said  I  could  get  a  spic-and-span  new 
one  the  fust  time  I  come  to  the  store.  And  I  want  a 
firkin  to  hold  meal.  And  a  paper  of  No.  9  needles ; 
no,  two  papers,  one  sharps  and  one  betweens.  And 
a  pound  of  old  Hyson.  Lemme  see,  is  there  any- 
thing else  ?  Oh,  Mis'  Woodford  wants  a  paper  of  pins 
and  a  gallipot  and  a  piece  of  chalk  and  a  broom. 
And  our  Ruth,  she  wants  this  phial  filled  with  rose- 
water  and  tv/o  yards  of  flannel  for  the  baby.  And, 
la !  I  came  near  forgettin'  the  molasses  jug  ;  here  it 
is  ;  I'll  have  it  filled  ;  and  that  makes  me  think — I 
want  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  mustard-seed  to  put  in 
my  pickles  and  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  ginger  for  my 


KEZIA  GOES  UP  TO  THE  STORE.       255 

ginger-bread.  And  eight  pie-plates  and  a  puddin* 
dish ;  and  our  bean-pot  it  got  cracked  and  I  must 
have  a  new  one.  Tlie  Squire's  helps  have  destroyed 
half  the  things  I  left  in  the  kitchen.  Yes,  there's 
one  thing  more  ;  a  little  reddin'  to  red  my  fire-place, 
and  a  little  blue  clay  to  mix  with  it  when  I  do  the 
sittin'-room  fire-place.  You  see  I  make  a  little  differ- 
ence between  the  family  and  me.  There,  now,  put 
up  a  Bristol  brick  and  some  rottenstone  and  sweet  oil ; 
the  andirons  has  growed  dingy  while  I  was  away.  And 
I  tell  you  what,  I  pity  andirons  that  is  dingy  when  / 
take  'em  in  hand.) 

"  Well,  I  declare !  how'm  I  ever  to  git  all  these 
things  home  to  onct?  I  s'pose  I  ought  to  sent  Luke 
up  with  the  sleigh.  Never  mind !  I'll  manage  it 
somehow.     Good-bye,  Deacon." 


XXIII. 

THE  JOURNAL  OF  THE  GREAT  AUNT  OF  ABIATHAR 
STRONG,  DURING  A  TOUR  FROM  THE  TOWN  OF 
BOSTON  TO  THE  CITY  OF  NEW  YORK  IN  THE  YEAR 
1704.  ABRIDGED  AND  COPIED  BY  RUTH  WOOD- 
FORD  FOR  HER  BABY.* 

Monday,  October  ye  2d,  1704. 

ABOUT  three  o'clock  I  began  my  journey  from 
Boston  to  New-Haven,  being  about  Two  Hun- 
dred Mile.  My  Kinsman,  Capt.  Robert  Luist,  waited 
on  me  as  farr  as  Dedham,  where  I  was  to  meet  ye 
Western  post.  I  visited  the  Reverend  Mr.  Belcher, 
Minister  of  ye  town,  and  tarried  there  till  evening, 
hoping  ye  post  would  come  along.  But  he  not  com- 
ing I  resolved  to  go  to  Billingses,  where  he  used  to  lodg, 
being  12  miles  further.  But  being  ignorant  of  the 
way.  Madam  Belcher,  seeing  no  persuasions  of  her 
good  Spouse  or  hers  could  prevail  with  me  to  Lodg 
there  that  night,  very  kindly  went  with  me  to  ye> 
Tavern,  where  I  hoped  to  get  my  guide,  and  desired 
of  the  Hostess  to  inquire  of  her  guests  whether  any 


*The  original  Journal  was  published  in  New  York  many  years 
ago. 

(253) 


AN  ANTIQUE  DOCUMENT.  257 

of  them  would  go  with  me.  But  they  being  tyed  by 
the  Lipps  to  a  pewter-engine,  refused  to  go.  At  last 
a  man  a  Century  old,  I  trow,  arose  and  demanded  what 
I  would  give  him.  "  Well,  Mr.  John,"  sais  I,  ''  make 
your  dem.ands."  "  Why,  half  a  piece  of  eight  and  a 
dram,"  sais  John.  I  agreed,  and  gave  him  a  Dram 
(now)  in  hand  to  bind  the  bargain.  His  shade  on  his 
Hors  resembled  a  globe  on  a  Gate  Post.  His  Hors 
resembled  a  Ghost. 

When  we  had  Ridd  about  an  how'r,  wee  came  into 
a  thick  swamp  wch,  by  Reason  of  a  great  fogg,  star- 
tled mee.  But  nothing  dismay'd  John ;  he  had  en- 
countered thousands  of  such  Swamps,  having  a  Uni- 
versal! Knowledge  in  the  woods.  After  we  left  the 
swamp,  we  reached  the  house  where  I  was  to  Lodg. 
But  I  had  not  made  many  steps  into  the  house,  ere 
I  was  Interrogated  by  a  young  lady,  who  Rored 
out :  "  Law  for  me,  who  are  you,  coming  here  at  this 
time  a  night  ?  I  never  see  a  woman  on  the  Rode  so 
Dreadful  late,  in  all  the  days  of  my  Versall  life.  I'me 
scar'd  out  of  my  wits." 

I  stood  aghast,  Prepareing  to  reply,  when  in  comes 
my  Guide.  To  him  Madam  turn'd,  Roreing  out, 
"Lawful  heart,  John,  is  it  you?  How  de  do!' 
Where  in  the  world  are  you  going  with  this  woman? 
Who  is  she?"  John  made  no  ansr,  but  sat  down  in 
the  corner,  fumbled  out  his  black  Junk,  and  saluted 
that  instead  of  Debb ;  she  then  turned  agen  to  me 
and  fe'l  anew  into  her  silly  questions,  without  asking 


258  PEMAQUID. 

me  to  sitt  down.  I  told  her  slice  treated  me  very  rude- 
ly, and  I  did  not  think  it  my  duty  to  answ'r  her  un- 
mannerly Questions.  I  paid  honest  John  with  money 
and  dram,  according  to  contract,  and  Dismist  him, 
and  pray'd  Miss  to  tell  me  where  I  might  Lodg.  She 
conducted  me  to  a  little  back  Lento,  wch.  was  almost 
filled  with  the  bedstead,  wch.  was  so  high  I  was  forced 
to  climb  on  a  chair  to  gitt  to  ye  wretched  bed  that 
lay  on  it,  and  on  wch  I  stretched  my  tired  limbs. 

Tuesday,  Oct.  ye  third,  I  set  out  with  the  Post  and 
rode  till  two  in  the  afternoon,  when  I  stopped  for 
Refreshments,  and  was  served  with  Pork  and  Cab- 
bage, of  wch  I  swallowed  a  Mouthful.  I  then  took 
Another  Hors  and  a  Guide,  who  rode  very  hard ;  and 
having  crossed  Providence  Ferry,  we  come  to  a  river, 
which  they  Generally  ride  thro'.  But  I  dare  not  ven- 
ture, so  the  Post  got  a  Ladd  and  Cannoo  to  take  me 
to  the  other  side.  I  had  to  be  very  circumspect, 
through  fear  of  being  upset  and  engulfed,  sitting 
with  my  hands  fast  on  each  side,  my  eyes  stedy,  not 
daring  to  budg  my  tongue  a  hair's  breadth  more  on 
one  side  of  my  mouth  than  tother,  nor  so  much  as 
think  on  Lott's  wife,  for  a  wry  thought  would  have 
oversett  our  wherey,  but  was  soon  put  out  of  pain  by 
feeling  the  Cannoo  on  shore.  Rewarding  my  sculler, 
again  mounted  and  made  the  best  of  our  way  for- 
wards. The  Rode  here  was  very  even  and  ye  day 
pleasant,  it  Being  now  near  Sunsett.  But  the  Post 
told  mee  we  had  neer  14  miles  to  Ride  to  the  next 


AN  ANTIQUE  DOCUMENT.  259 

Stage  (where  we  were  to  Lodg).  I  askt  him  of  the 
rest  of  the  Rode,  foreseeing  we  must  travail  in  the 
nig-ht.  He  told  me  there  was  a  bad  River  we  were 
to  Ride  through,  which  was  so  very  firce  a  hors  could 
sometimes  hardly  stem  it ;  But  wee  should  soon  be 
over.  I  cannot  express  the  concern  of  mind  this  re- 
lation sett  me  in ;  no  thoughts  but  those  of  the  dan« 
g'ros  River  could  entertain  my  Imagination — Some- 
times seeing  myself  drowning,  othenvhiles  drowned, 
and  at  the  best  like  a  holy  Sister,  Just  come  out  of 
a  Spiritual  Bath  in  dripping  Garments. 

Now  was  the  Glorious  Luminary,  with  his  swift 
coursers,  arrived  at  his  Stage,  leaving  poor  me  with 
the  rest  of  this  part  of  the  lower  world  in  darkness. 
The  only  Glimering  we  now  had  was  from  the 
spangled  Skies,  whose  Imperfect  Reflections  rendered 
every  object  formidable.  Each  lifeless  Trunk,  with* 
its  shattered  Limbs,  appear'd  an  Armed  Enymie ; 
and  every  little  stump  like  a  Ravenous  devourer. 
Nor  could  I  so  much  as  discern  my  Guide,  when  at  a 
distance,  which  added  to  the  terror. 

Thus,  absolutely  lost  in  Thought,  and  dying  with 
the  very  thoughts  of  drowning,  I  came  up  with  the 
post.  Soon  we  descended  a  Hill  and  I  knew  by  the 
Going  of  the  Hors  we  had  entered  the  water  which 
my  Guide  told  mee  was  the  hazzardos  River  he  had 
told  me  off,  and  hee.  Riding  up  close  to  my  Side,  Bid 
me  not  fear — we  should  be  over  Imediately.  I  now 
ralyed  all  the  courage  I  was  mistriss  of,  Knowing  that 


260  P EM  A  QUID. 

I  must  either  Venture  my  fate  of  drowning  or  be  left 
like  ye  Children  in  the  wood.  So,  as  the  Post  bid  me, 
I  gave  Reins  to  my  Nagg,  and,  sitting  as  Stedy  as 
Just  before  in  the  Cannoo,  in  a  few  minutes  got  safe 
to  the  other  side,  which  he  told  me  was  the  Narra- 
gansett  Country.  We  rode  on  in  the  darkness,  the 
branches  of  the  trees  tearing  my  face,  and  my  Imag- 
ination full  of  alarms. 

Now,  coming  to  ye  foot  of  a  hill,  I  found  great  dif- 
ficulty in  ascending;  But  b'ing  got  to  the  Top,  was 
there  amply  recompensed  with  the  friendly  Appear- 
ance of  the  kind  Conductress  of  the  night,  Just  then 
Advancing  above  the  Horizontall  Line — The  Rap- 
tures wch  the  Sight  of  that  fair  Planett  produced  in 
mee,  caus'd  me,  for  the  moment,  to  forget  my  present 
weariness  and  past  toils ;  and  Inspir'd  me  for  most  of 
the  remaining  way  with  very  divirting  tho'ts — From 
hence  the  way  being  smooth  and  even,  the  night 
warm  and  serene,  and  the  Tall  and  thick  Trees  at  a 
distance,  especially  when  the  moon  glowd  light 
through  the  branches,  filled  my  Imagination  with  the 
pleasant  delusion  of  a  Sumptuous  citty,  fiU'd  with 
famous  Buildings  and  churches,  with  their  spiring 
steeples,  Balconies,  Galleries  and  I  know  not  what ; 
Grandeurs  wch  I  had  heard  of,  and  wch  the  stories  of 
foreign  countries  had  given  me  the  Idea  of.  Being 
thus  agreably  entertain'd  without  a  thou't  of  anything 
but  thoughts  themselves,  I  on  a  suden  was  Rous'd 
by  the  Post's  sounding  his  horn  and  I  knew  we  had 


AN  ANTIQUE  DOCUMENT.  261 

reached  our  Lodg.  Here  I  had  a  Httle  chocolate, 
and  betook  me  to  bed,  but  no  sleep  could  I  get, 
through  the  Roreing  of  the  Town-topers  in  the  next 
room.  I  heartily  fretted  and  wish't  *um  tongue-tyed  ; 
but  with  as  little  success  as  a  friend  of  mine,  who  v/as 
kept  awake  by  a  county  Left  and  a  Sergent,  Insigne 
and  a  Deacon  contriving  how  to  bring  a  triangle  into 
a  Square. 

Oct.  4. — At  about  four  in  the  morning,  set  out  for 
Kingston,  and  rode  twenty-two  miles  without  being 
able  to  bait  our  Horses.  The  post  encouraged  me  by 
saying  w^e  should  be  well-accommodated  at  mr. 
Devill's ;  but  I  questioned  whether  we  ought  to  go 
to  the  Devil  to  be  helpt  out  of  affliction.  But  w^e 
fared  hard  at  his  hand,  only  unlike  t'other  one,  he  let 
us  depart.  Leaving  this  habitation  of  Cruelty,  we 
rode  two  miles  further  where  we  found  toUerable  ac- 
commodation, and  poor  weary  I  slipt  away  to  enter 
my  mind  in  my  Journal. 

Next  day  we  proceeded  through  the  Narraganset 
countr}^  and  about  one  in  the  afternoon  came  to 
Paukataug  River,  now  very  high — Stop  at  a  Hutt 
where  dwelt  a  guide  who  would  conduct  me  over  the 
Waters.  It  was  built  of  clapboards,  so  miuch  asunder^ 
that  Light  came  through,  everywhere  ;  the  door  tyed 
on  with  a  cord,  in  place  of  hinges ;  The  floor  the  bare 
earth,  the  furniture  a  Bedd  with  a  glass  bottle  hang- 
ing at  ye  head  on't,  an  earthen  cupp,  a  small  pewter 
Bason,  a  Bord  w^th  sticks  to  stand  on  instead  of  a  ta- 


262  PEMAQUID. 

ble,  and  a  block  or  two  in  ye  corner  Instead  of  chairs — 
Having  ventured  over  the  River  and  rode  on  very 
slowly  thro'  Stonington,  Octobr.  ye  5th  I  sat  forward 
for  New  London  where,  being  safely  arrived  at  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Prentices,  between  9  and  10  at  night ; 
waited  on  Rev.  Mr.  Gurdon  Saltonstall,  minister  of 
that  place,  who  very  kindly  invited  me  to  stay  that 
night  at  his  house,  where  I  was  very  handsomely 
Lodged  ;  and  made  good  the  great  character  I  had  be- 
fore heard  of  him,  viz. :  that  he  was  the  most  affable, 
courteous,  Generos  and  best  of  men. 

Oct.  6. — I  got  up  very  early  in  Order  to  have  some- 
body to  go  with  mee  to  New  Haven.  A  young  Gen- 
tleman was  provided  by  my  hospitable  entertainer, 
and  wee  advanced  on  toward  Seabrook.  The  Rodes 
are  very  bad  all  along  this  way.  Incumbered  wtli 
Rocks  and  mountainous  passages,  wch  were  very  dis- 
agreeable to  my  tired  carcass.  In  going  over  a 
bridge  my  hors  stumbled,  and  I  narrowly  escaped 
falling  over  into  the  water.  But  through  God's 
Goodness  I  met  with  no  harm.  In  about  half  a 
mile's  Riding  I  come  to  an  ordinary,  were  well  en- 
tertained by  a  woman  of  about  70  and  vantage,  but 
of  as  Sound  Intellectuals  as  one  of  17.  We  arrived 
at  Saybrook  ferry  about  two  of  the  clock,  and  cross- 
ing it,  stopped  to  bait  and  pd  sixpence  apiece  for  our 
dinners,  wch  was  only  Smell.  About  seven  at  night 
we  came  to  Killingsworth. 

Sat.  Oct.  7. — We  sett  out  early  in  the  Morning, 


AN  ANTIQUE  DOCUMENT.  2G3 

and  being  something  unacquainted  wth  the  way,  we 
ask't  it  of  a  Young  fellow  v/ee  mett,  and  he  said  wee 
must  Ride  a  little  further,  and  turn  down  by  the  cor- 
ner of  Uncle  Sam's  Lott.  My  Guide  vented  his 
spleen  at  the  Lubber,  and  we  soon  after  came  into 
the  Rhode,  and  about  2  in  the  afternoon  arrived  at 
New  Haven,  v/here  I  was  received  with  all  Possible 
Respects  and  civility.  They  are  governed  by  the 
same  Laws  as  wee  in  Boston  (or  little  differing)  thr'out 
this  whole  Colony  of  Connecticut,  and  much  the  same 
way  of  Church  Government,  and  many  of  them  good, 
Sociable  people,  and  I  hope  Religious  too  ;  but  a  lit- 
tle too  much  Independant  in  their  principalis,  and,  as 
I  have  been  told,  were  formerly  in  their  Zeal  very 
Riggid  in  their  Administration  towards  such  as  their 
Laws  made  Offenders,  even  to  a  harmless  Kiss  or  In- 
nocent merriment  among  young  people. 

Their  Diversions  in  this  part  of  the  Country  are  on 
Lecture  days  and  Training  days  mostly ;  on  the  former 
there  is  Ridings  from  town  to  town,  and  on  training 
days  the  youth  divert  themselves  by  Shooting  at  the 
Target,  as  they  call  it,  when  hee  who  hits  nearest  the 
white  has  some  yards  of  Red  Ribbon  presented  him., 
wch  being  tied  to  his  hat  band,  ye  two  ends  stream- 
ing down  his  back,  he  is  led  away  in  Triumph  Vv^th 
great  applause,  as  the  winners  of  the  Olympick 
Games.  They  generally  marry  very  young  ;  the  males 
oftener  as  I  am  told  under  twenty  than  above. 

There  are  great  plenty  of  Oysters  all  along  by  the 


264  PEMAQUID. 

seaside,  as  farr  as  I  Rode  in  the  Collony,  and  those 
very  good.  And  they  generally  lived  very  well  and 
comfortably  in  their  families.  But  too  Indulgent  (es- 
pecially ye  farmers)  to  their  slaves,  suffering  too  great 
familiarity  from  them,  permitting  ym  to  sit  at  Table 
^  and  eat  with  them  (as  they  say  to  save  time),  and 
into  the  dish  goes  the  black  hoof  with  the  white 
hand.  As  to  the  Indians  in  the  towns  I  passed 
through,  they  were  the  most  savage  of  all  the  savages 
of  that  kind  that  I  had  ever  seen. 

Being  at  a  merchant's  house,  in  comes  a  tall  coun- 
try fellow,  with  his  alfageos  full  of  Tobacco — for  they 
seldom  Loose  their  Cudd,  but  keep  Chewing  and 
Spitting  as  long  as  they'r  eyes  are  open, — he  advanc't 
to  the  middle  of  the  Room,  makes  an  Awkward  Nodd, 
and  spitting  a  large  deal  of  aromatic  Tincture,  he  gave 
a  scrape  with  his  shovel -like  shoo,  leaving  a  small 
shovelful!  of  dirt  on  the  floor,  made  a  full  stop, 
Hugging  his  own  pretty  Body  with  his  hands  under 
his  arms,  stood  staring  rown'd  him,  like  a  Catt  let  out 
of  a  Baskett.  At  last,  like  the  Creature  Balaam  Rode 
on,  he  opened  his  mouth  and  said,  "  have  you  any 
Ribinen  for  Hatbands  to  sell,  I  pray  ?  "  The  Ques- 
tions and  Answers  about  the  pay  being  past,  the 
Ribin  is  bro't  and  opened.  Bumpkin  Simpere  cryes, 
its  confounded  Gay  I  vow  ;  and  beckoning  to  the 
door,  in  ccmes  Jane  Tawdry,  dropping  about  50 
curtsees,  and  stands  by  him  ;  hee  shows  her  the 
Ribin — ^'  Law ,  you,''  sais  shee,  ^^ifs  right  gent ;  do 


AN  ANTIQUE  DOCUMENT.  205 

you  take  it,  'tis  dreadful  pretty  T  Then  she  inquires: 
''  Have  yoti  afty  hood  silk  I  pray  ?  "  which  being 
bro't  and  bought,  "  Have  you  any  tJired  silk  to  seiv  it 
with?''  says  she;  wch  being  accommodated  with 
they  departed.  They  generally  stand  after  they  come 
in  a  great  while  speechless,  and  sometimes  don't  say 
a  word  till  they  are  askt  what  they  want,  which  I  Im- 
pute to  the  awe  they  stand  in  of  the  merchants,  who 
they  are  constantly  almost  indebted  too  ;  and  must 
take  what  they  bring  without  Liberty  to  choose  for 
themselves  ;  but  they  serve  them  as  well,  making  the 
merchants  stay  long  enough  for  their  pay. 
K  We  may  observe  here  the  great  necessity  and  benni- 
fitt  of  Education  and  Conversation  ;  for  these  people 
have  as  Large  a  portion  of  mother  witt,  or  Sometimes 
a  Larger,  than  those  who  have  bin  brought  up  in 
citties ;  But  for  want  of  emprovements,  Render  them- 
selves almost  Ridiculous,  as  above.  They  are  gen- 
errly  very  plain  in  their  dress,  throuout  ye  Colony,  as 
I  saw,  and  follow  one  another  in  their  modes.  Their 
Chief  Red  Letter  day  is  St.  Election,  wch  is  annually 
Observed  according  to  Charter,  to  choose  their  Govenr, 
a  blessing  they  can  never  be  thankful  enough  for,  as 
they  will  find,  if  ever  it  be  their  hard  fortune  to 
loose  it — The  present  Governor  in  Conecticott  is  the 
Honble  John  Winthrop,  Esq.  a  Gentleman  of  an  An- 
cient and  Honorable  family,  whose  Father  was  Gov- 
ernor here  sometime  before,  and  his  grandfather  had 

bin  Govn  of  Massachusetts — This  gentleman  is  a  very 
12 


266  PEMAQUID. 

curteous  and  affable  person,  much  given  to  Hospital- 
ity, and  has  by  his  good  services  gain'd  the  affections 
of  the  people  as  much  as  any  who  had  bin  before  him 
in  that  post. 

Dec,  6. — Being  by  this  time  well  Recruited  after  my 
Journey,  I  set  out  from  N.  Haven  with  my  Kinsman, 
Mr.  Thomas  Trowbridge,  and  about  1 1  same  morn- 
ing, came  to  Stratford  ferry;  wch  crossing,  Baited 
our  horses,  and  wd  have  eaten  a  morsell  ourselves. 
But  the  Pumpkin  and  Indian  mixt  Bred  had  such  an 
Aspect,  that  we  left  it,  and  proceeded  forward,  and  at 
seven  at  night,  came  to  Fairfield,  where  we  Lodg'd. 
Early  next  morning  we  set  off  for  Norwalk,  from  its 
half  Indian  name  of  North-walk,  where  about  12  we 
arrived,  and  Had  a  Dinner  of  Fryed  Vension,  very 
savory.  '  From  hence  we  hasted  towards  Rye,  walk- 
ing and  leading  our  horses  near  a  mile  together,  up  a 
prodigious  high  Hill ;  arrived  about  nine  at  night, 
and  took  up  our  Lodgings  at  an  ordinary  which  a 
French  family  kept.  Being  very  hungry,  I  desired  a 
fricasee  wh  was  managed  so  contrary  to  my  notion  of 
Cookery,  that  I  hastened  to  bed  supperless.  Being 
exceeding  weary,  I  laid  my  poor  Carkes  (never  more 
tired)  and  found  my  Covering  as  scanty  as  my  bed 
was  hard.  Annon  I  heard  a  noise  in  the  next  room, 
the  men  complaining  their  leggs  lay  out  of  their  Bed 
by  reason  of  its  shortness.  Poor  I  made  but  one 
Grone,  wh  was  from  the  time  I  went  to  bed,  to  ye 
time  I  Riss,  wch  was  about  3  in  the  morning. 


AN  ANTIQUE  DOCUMENT.  267 

About  seven  in  the  morn  we  come  to  New  Ro- 
chell,  a  french  town,  where  we  had  a  good  break- 
fast, and  in  the  strength  of  that,  about  an  hour 
before  sunsett,  got  to  York.  Here  I  apply'd  myself 
to  Mr.  Burrough's,  a  merchant,  to  whom  I  was 
recommended  by  my  Kinsman,  Capt.  Prout,  and 
received  great  CiviHties  from  him  and  his  Spouse, 
who  w^ere  now  both  deaf,  but  very  agreeable  in  their 
Conversation,  diverting  me  with  pleasant  stories  of 
their  knowledge  in  Britain,  from  whence  they  both 
came.  Mr.  Burrough's  went  with  me  to  Vendue, 
where  I  bought  about  loo  Rheem  of  paper,  wch 
was  retaken  in  a  fly-boat  from  Holland  and  sold  very 
Reasonably  here.  And  at  Vendue  I  made  a  great 
many  acquaintances  amongst  the  good  women  of  the 
town,  who  curteously  invited  me  to  their  houses 
and  generously  entertained  me. 

The  city  of  New  York  is  a  pleasant,  well-com- 
pacted place,  situated  on  a  commodious  River,  wch 
is  a  fine  harbor  for  shipping.  The  Buildings,  Brick 
Generally,  very  stately  and  high,  though  not  alto- 
gether like  ours  in  Boston.  The  Bricks  of  some  of 
the  Houses  are  of  divers  Coullers  and  laid  in  Check- 
ers, and  being  glazed,  look  very  agreeable.  The 
inside  of  them  are  neat  to  admiration;  the  wooden 
work  (for  only  the  walls  are  plastered)  and  the 
Sumerr  and  Girt  are  plained  and  kept  very  v/hite 
scowr'd,  as  so  is  all  the  partitions,  if  made  of  Bords. 
The  fireplaces  have  no  Jambs  (as  ours  have),  But  the 


2C8  PEMAQUID. 

Backs  run  flush  with  the  walls,  and  the  Hearth  is  of 
Tyles,  and  is  as  far  out  into  the  Rooms  at  the  Ends 
as  before  the  fire,  which  is  generally  five  feet  in  the 
Low'r  rooms ;  and  the  piece  over  where  the  mantle 
tree  should  be  is  made  as  ours,  with  Joyners  work, 
and,  as  I  suppose,  is  fastened  to  iron  rodds  inside. 
The  House  where  the  Vendue  was  had  Chimney 
Corners  like  ours,  and  they  and  the  hearths  were  laid 
with  the  finest  tile  that  I  ever  see,  and  the  stair-cases 
laid  all  with  white  tile,  which  is  ever  clean,  and  so 
are  the  walls  of  the  Kitchen,  which  had  a  Brick  floor. 
They  were  making  Great  preparations  to  Receive 
their  Governor,  Lord  Cornbury,  from  the  Jerseys, 
and  for  that  End  raised  the  militia  to  Gard  him  on 
shore  to  the  fort. 

They  are  Generaly  of  the  Church  of  England,  and 
have  a  New  England  Gentleman  for  their  minister, 
and  a  very  fine  church,  set  out  with  all  Customary 
requisites.  There  are  also  a  Dutch  &  Divers  Con- 
venticles, as  they  call  them,  viz.,  Baptist,  Quakers, 
&:c.  They  are  not  strict  in  keeping  the  Sabbath 
as  in  Boston  and  other  places  where  I  had  bin,  But 
seem  to  deal  with  great  exactness  as  farr  as  I  see. 
They  are  Sociable  to  one  another,  and  Curteous  and 
Civill  to  strangers,  and  fare  well  in  their  houses. 
The  English  go  very  fasheonable  in  their  dress — But 
the  Dutch,  especially  the  middling  sort,  differ  from 
our  women,  in  their  habitt  go  loose,  ware  French 
muches,  which  are  like  a  Capp  &  a  head-band  in 


AN  ANTIQUE  DOCUMENT,  209 

one,  leaving  their  ears  bare,  which  are  set  out  with 
Jewells  of  a  large  size,  and  many  in  number,  and 
their  fingers  hoop't  with  Rings,  Some  with  large 
stones  in  them,  of  many  CouUers,  as  were  their  pend- 
ants in  their  ears,  which  you  should  see  very  old 
women  wear  as  well  as  young. 

They  have  Vendues  very  frequently  and  make 
their  Earnings  very  well  by  them,  for  they  treat  with 
good  Liquor  Liberally,  and  the  Customers  drink  as 
Liberally  and  generally  pay  for  it  as  well,  by  paying 
for  that  which  they  Bidd  up  briskly  for,  after  the  sack 
has  gone  plentifully  about,  tho'  sometimes  good  penny 
worths  are  got  there.  Their  Diversions  in  the  Winter 
is  Riding  Slays  about  three  or  four  Miles  out  of  Town, 
where  they  have  Houses  of  entertainment,  at  a  place 
called  The  Bowery,  and  some  go  to  friend's  Houses, 
who  handsomely  treat  them.  Mr.  B.  cary'd  his 
spouse  and  Daughter  and  myself  to  one  Madam 
Dowes,  a  Gentlewoman  that  lived  at  a  farm  House, 
who  gave  us  a  handsome  Entertainment  of  five  or  six 
Dishes,  and  choice  Beer  and  metheglin,  Cyder,  etc., 
all  of  wh.  she  said  was  the  product  of  her  farm.  I 
believe  we  met  50  or  60  slays  that  day ;  they  fly  with 
great  swiftness,  and  some  are  so  furious  that  they'le 
turn  out  of  the  path  for  none  except  a  Loaden  Cart. 

Having  transacted  the  affair  I  went  upon,  after 
about  a  fortnight's  stay,  I  left  New  York  with  no  little 
regret,  and  Thursday,  Dec.  21,  set  out  for  New 
Haven,  with  my  kinsman  Trowbridge  and   the  man 


270  PEMAQUID. 

that  waited  on  me  about  one  afternoon,  and  about 
three  came  to  the  half-way  house  about  ten  miles  out 
of  town,  where  we  Baited  and  went  forward,  and 
about  5  came  to  Spiting  Devil,  where  they  pay  three 
pence  for  passing  over  with  a  horse.  We  unhappily 
lost  our  way,  and  being  overtaken  with  a  great  storm 
of  wind  and  snow,  wh.  set  full  in  our  faces  about  dark, 
we  were  very  uneasy.  But  meeting  one  Gardner  who 
lived  in  a  cottage  thereabout,  offered  us  his  fire  to  sit 
by,  having  but  one  poor  Bedd,  and  his  wife  not  well, 
or  he  would  go  to  a  House  with  us  where  we  might 
be  better  accommodated.  Thither  we  went.  But  a 
surly  old  shee  Creature,  not  worthy  the  name  of 
woman,  would  hardly  let  us  go  into  her  Door,  though 
the  weather  was  so  stormy  none  but  shee  would  have 
turned  out  a  Dogg.  But  her  son,  whose  name  was 
Gallop,  who  lived  Just  by.  Invited  us  to  his  house, 
and  I  went  to  Bedd  with  a  hot  stone  at  my  feet. 
Insomuch  as  I  was  cold  and  sick,  I  was  forced  to  call 
them  up  to  give  me  something  to  warm  me.  They 
had  nothing  but  milk  in  the  house,  wch  they  Boild, 
and  to  make  it  better,  sweetened  it  with  molasses. 
Alas !  poor  me,  to  let  it  go  down ! 

Friday,  ye  22  Dec,  we  set  out  for  New  Rochell, 
where  being  come,  we  had  good  Entertainment  and 
Recruited  ourselves  very  well.  This  is  a  very  pretty 
place,  well  compact,  and  good  handsome  houses, 
clear,  good  and  passable  Rodes,  and  situated  on  a 
Navigable  River,  abundance  of  land  well   fined  and 


AN  ANTIQUE  DOCUMENT.  271 

Cleared  all  along  as  we  passed,  which  caused  in  me  a 
Love  to  the  place,  which  I  could  have  been  content 
to  live  in  it.  Here  we  Ridd  over  a  Bridge  made  of 
one  entire  stone  of  Such  a  Breadth  that  a  cart  might 
pass  with  safety  and  to  spare.  It  lay  over  a  passage 
cutt  through  a  Rock  to  convey  water  to  a  mill  not  far 
off.  Here  are  three  fine  Taverns  within  call  of  each 
other,  very  good  provision  for  Travvilers. 

Thence  we  travailed  through  Merrinak,  a  neet 
though  little  place,  with  a  navigable  River  before  it, 
one  of  the  pleasantest  I  ever  see.  Here  were  good 
Buildings,  especially  one,  a  very  fine  seat,  wch  they 
told  me  was  Col.  Hethcoats,  who,  I  had  heard,  was  a 
very  fine  Gentleman.  From  thence  we  came  to  Hors 
Neck,  where  we  Baited,  and  they  told  me  that  one 
Church  of  England  parson  officiated  in  all  these  three 
towns  once  every  Sunday,  in  turns,  throughout  the 
Year,  and  that  they  all  could  but  poorly  maintain 
him,  which  they  grudg'd  to  do,  being  a  poor  and 
quarelsome  crew,  as  I  understand  by  our  Host ;  then 
quarreling  about  their  choice  of  minister,  they  chose 
to  have  none,  but  caused  the  Government  to  send  this 
Gentleman  to  them.  Here  we  took  leave  of  York 
Government,  and,  descending  the  Mountainous  pas- 
sage that  almost  broke  my  heart  in  ascending  before, 
we  come  to  Stamford,  a  well  compact  Town,  but 
miserable  meeting-house,  wch  we  passed,  and  thro' 
many  &  great  difficulties,  as  Bridges  which  were  ex- 
ceeding high  &  very  tottering  and  of  vast  Length, 


272  PEMAQUID. 

steep  &  rocky  Hills  &  precipices  (Buggbears  to  a  fear- 
ful female  travailer).  About  nine  at  night  we  come  to 
Norrwalk,  having  crept  over  a  timber  of  a  Broken 
Bridge  about  thirty  foot  long  &  perhaps  fifty  to  ye 
water.  I  was  exceeding  tired  out  &  cold  when  we 
come  to  our  Inn,  and  could  get  nothing  there  but 
poor  entertainment  and  the  Impertinant  Bable  of  one 
of  the  worst  of  men,  among  many  others  of  which  our 
Host  made  one,  who,  had  he  bin  one  degree  Im- 
pudenter,  would  have  outdone  his  Grandfather.  And 
this,  I  think,  is  the  most  perplexed  night  I  have  yet 
had.  From  hence,  Saturday,  Dec.  23,  a  very  cold  & 
windy  day,  after  an  Intolerable  night's  Lodgings,  wee 
hasted  forward,  only  observing  in  our  way  the  Town 
to  be  situated  on  a  Navigable  River,  with  indifcrent 
Buildings,  &  people  more  refined  than  in  some  of  the 
Country  towns  wee  had  passed,  tho'  vicious  enough, 
the  Church  and  Tavern  being  next  neighbours. 
Having  Ridd  thro'  a  difficult  River,  wee  come  to 
Fairfield,  where  wee  Baited  and  were  much  refreshed, 
as  well  with  the  Good  things  wch  gratified  our  ap- 
petites as  the  time  took  to  rest  our  wearied  Limbs, 
wch  Latter  I  employed  in  enquiring  concerning  the 
Town  &  manner  of  the  people,  &c.  This  is  a  con- 
siderable town,  &  filled,  as  they  say,  with  wealthy 
people ;  have  a  spacious  meeting-house  &  good 
Buildings.  But  the  Inhabitants  are  Litigious,  nor 
do  they  well  agree  with  their  minister,  who  (they  say) 
is  a  very  worthy  Gentleman. 


AN  ANTIQ  UE  DOCUMENT.  273 

From  hence  we  went  to  Stratford,  the  next  Town, 
in  which  I  observed  but  few  houses,  and  those  not 
very  good  ones.  But  the  people  that  I  conversed 
with  were  civill  and  good-natured.  Here  we  staid 
till  late 'at  night,  being  to  cross  a  Dangerous  River 
ferry,  the  River  at  that  time  full  of  Ice ;  but  after 
about  four  hours  waiting,  with  great  difficulty  wee 
got  over.  Being  got  to  Milford,  it  being  late  in  the 
night,  I  could  go  no  further ;  my  fellow-travailer  go- 
ing forward,  I  was  invited  to  Lodg  at  Mrs.  ,  a 

very  kind  and  civill  Gentlewoman,  by  whom  I  was 
handsomely  entertained  till  the  next  night,  '  The 
people  here  go  very  plain  in  their  apparel  and  seem 
to  be  very  grave  and  serious.  This  is  a  Seaport  place 
and  accommodated  with  a  Good  Harbor.  But  I  had 
not  opportunity  to  make  particular  observations  be- 
cause it  was  Sabbath  day. 

Dec.  24. — This  evening  I  set  out  with  the  Gentle- 
man's son  who  she  very  civilly  offered  to  go  with  me 
when  she  saw  no  perswasion  would  cause  me  to  stay, 
which  she  pressingly  desired,  and  crossing  a  ferr)-, 
having  but  nine  miles  to  New  Haven,  in  a  short  time 
arrived  there  and  was  kindly  received  and  well  ac= 
commodated  amongst  my  Friends  and  Relations. 

Jan.  6. — Being  now  well   Recruited    and   fitt   for 

business  I  discoursed   the  persons   I  was   concerned 

with,  that  we  might  finnish  in  order  to  my  return  to 

Boston.     They  delayed  as  they  had   hitherto  done, 

hoping  to  tire  my  Patience.  But  I  was  resolute  to  stay 
12* 


274  PEMAQUID. 

and  See  an  End  to  the  matter,  let  it  be  never  so  much 
to  my  disadvantage.  So  January  9th  they  come  again 
and  promise  the  Wednesday  following  to  go  through 
with  the  distribution  of  the  Estate  which  they  delayed 
till  Thursday  and  then  come  with  new  amusements. 
-But  at  length  by  the  mediation  of  that  holy  good  Gen- 
tlman,  the  Rev.  Mr.  James  Pierpont,  the  minister  of 
New  Haven,  and  with  the  advice  and  assistance  of 
our  Good  friends,  we  come  to  an  accomodation  and 
distribution,  which  being  finished,  though  not  till 
February,  the  man  that  waited  on  me  to  York  taking 
the  charge  of  me,  I  sit  out  for  Boston.  We  went 
from  New  Haven  upon  the  ice  (the  ferry  being  not 
passable  thereby)  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pierpont  with 
Madam  Prout,  Cuzin  Trowbridge  and  divers  others 
were  taking  leave.  We  went  onward  without  any- 
thing Remarkable  till  wee  come  to  New  London  and 
Lodged  again  at  Mr.  Saltorstalls,  and  here  I  dismist 
my  Guide,  and  my  Generous  entertainer  provided  me 
Mr.  Samuel  Rogers  of  that  state  to  go  home  with 
me.  I  stayed  a  day  here  Longer  than  I  intended  by 
the  command  of  the  Honble  Govenor  Winthrop  to 
stay  and  take  a  supper  with  him,  whose  wonderful 
civility  I  may  not  omitt.  The  next  morning  I  cross- 
ed ye  Ferry  to  Groton,  having  had  the  honor  of  the 
Company  of  Madam  Livingston  (who  is  the  Govenors 
Daughter)  and  Mary  Christophers  and  divers  others 
to  the  boat — and  that  night  Lodgd  at  Stonington 
and  had  Rost  Beef  and  pumpkin  sause  for  supper. 


AN  ANTIQUE  DOCUMENT.  275 

The  next  night  at  Haven's  I  had  Rost  fowle,  and  the 
next  day  we  come  to  a  river  which  by  Reason  of  ye 
Freshets  coming  down  was  swell'd  so  high  wee  feard 
it  impassable  and  the  rapid  stream  was  very  terryfy- 
ing.  However  we  went  over  and  that  in  a  small 
Cannoo.  Mr.  Rogers  assuring  me  of  his  good  con- 
duct, I  after  a  stay  of  near  an  howr  on  the  shore  for 
consultation  went  into  the  Cannoo,  and  Mr.  Rogers 
paddled  about  lOO  yards  up  the  Creek  by  the  shore 
side,  turned  into  the  swift  stream  and  dexterously 
steering  her  in  a  moment  wee  come  to  the  other  side 
as  swiftly  passing  as  an  arrow  shott  out  of  the  Bow 
by  a  strong  arm — I  staid  on  ye  shore  till  hee  returned 
to  fetch  our  horses,  which  he  caused  to  swim  over, 
himself  bringing  the  furniture  in  the  Cannoo.  But  it 
is  past  my  skill  to  express  the  exceeding  fright  all 
their  transactions  formed  in  me.  We  were  now  in 
the  colony  of  Massachusetts.  There  I  mett  Capt. 
John  Richards  of  Boston  who  was  going  home,  So 
being  very  glad  of  his  Company  we  Rode  something 
harder  than  hitherto,  and  missing  my  way  going  up  a 
very  steep  Hill,  my  horse  dropt  down  under  me  as 
Dead,  and  I  was  obliged  to  get  another  Hors,  resolv- 
ing for  Boston  that  night  if  possible.  But  many  mis- 
haps, and  the  people  much  discouraging  us,  it  so 
wrought  on  me  being  tired  and  dispirited,  that  I 
agreed  to  Lodg  at  Dedham  that  night  wch  we  did, 
and  the  next  day,  being  March  3d,  wee  got  safe  home 
to  Boston,  where  I  found  my  aged  and  tender  mother 


276  PEMAQUID. 

and  my  Dear  and  only  Child  in  good  health  with 
open  arms  ready  to  receive  me,  and  my  Kind  relations 
and  friends  flocking  to  welcome  mee,  and  hear  the 
story  of  my  transactions  and  travails,  I  having  this 
day  bin  five  months  from  home,  and  now  I  cannot 
fully  express  my  Joy  and  Satisfaction,  But  desire  sin- 
cerely to  adore  my  Great  Benefactor  for  thus  gra- 
ciously carrying  forth  and  returning  in  safety,  His  un- 
worthy Handmaid. 


XXIV. 

•'  Death  is  another  life.     We  bow  our  heads 
At  going  out,  wc  think,  and  enter  straight 
Another  golden  chamber  of  the  King's 
Larger  than  this  we  leave,  and  lovelier." 

ruth's  journal. 

IT  is  a  great  while  since  I  have  written  anything.  I 
kept  thinking  I  would  set  down  what  I  knew  I 
should  want  to  remember,  and  then  I  would  put  it 
off. 

After  Kezia  came  back  and  relieved  mother  of  all 
care  in  the  kitchen,  things  seemed  to  get  into  the  old 
track.  All  the  old  ways  father  used  to  have,  and 
that  he  took  such  comfort  in,  came  of  themselves. 
Mother  joined  in  with  him,  heart  and  hand.  They 
went  round  together,  carrying  good  things,  and  giv- 
ing tracts  and  little  books ;  speaking  a  kind  word 
here  and  a  kind  word  there;  and  Kezia  kept  them  in 
everything  they  wanted  for  sick  people  and  poor 
folks,  no  matter  whether  it  was  day  or  night.  I  never 
saw  father  so  happy.  Mother  seemed  very  happy, 
too ;  though  I  don't  think  she  ever  forgot  for  one 
minute  that  she  had  caused  him  a  good  deal  ot 
trouble  and  sorrow.  I  know  by  experience  that  you 
can  have  pain  and  pleasure  both  at  once. 

(277) 


278  PEMAQUID. 

I  thought  nobody  noticed  that,  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  peace  and  content,  Samuel  was  growing  feebler 
and  weaker  every  day. 

But  one  morning  when  Kezia  and  I  were  trying  to 
get  something  for  Samuel's  breakfast — it  was  a  good 
while  since  he'd  been  up  to  eat  his  breakfast  with  the 
rest  of  us — Kezia  all  of  a  sudden  threw  down  what  she 
had  in  her  hands,  and  burst  out  crying. 

**  I  verily  believe  you're  all  as  blind  as  bats!  "  she 
sobbed.  ''  Nobody  aint  got  no  eyes  but  me.  Me  as 
nussed  his  ma  when  she  was  a-going,  and  how  there 
wasn't  nothing  you  could  coax  her  to  eat !  " 

*'  What  do  you  mean,  Kezia  ?  "  I  asked.  I  was  all 
of  a  tremble,  and  wanted  to  hear,  and  yet  didn't  want 
to  hear. 

"  No,  nobody  aint  got  no  eyes  but  me,"  she  re- 
peated. 

"  Kezia,"  I  said,  **  you've  forgotten  that  I  was  at 
grandma's  a  good  many  years.  I  got  into  the  way 
of  watching  the  looks  of  sick  folks  there  ;  and  after 
I  came  home  I  hadn't  anything  special  to  do,  and 
there  were  things  that  made  me  kind  of  sore  and  sor- 
rowful, so  that  I  got  into  the  way  of  going  round 
among  sick  folks ;  and  the  moment  I  saw  Samuel 
the  night  he  came  home,  I  felt — well,  I  felt  as  I  do 
now."     And  with  that  I  burst  out  crying. 

''  And  why  aint  you  said  nothing  ?"  cried  she.  "  If 
you'd  a  spoke  I  could  have  spoke,  and  not  jist  kep' 
shut  up  till  I  burst  into  forty  pieces !     And  who's  to 


I 


jR  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  279 

tell  his  pa,  I  want  to  know  ?  You  needn't  ask  me  to 
do  it,  for  I'd  sooner  be  pitched  into  the  mill-pond  ! 
So  there !  " 

''  No,  I'll  tell  father,  Kezia.  Father's  heart  is  a 
good  deal  set  on  Samuel,  I  know.  But  it's  more  set  on 
God  ;  I  know  that.  Oh,  Kezia,  when  you're  in  trouble 
it  does  make  such  a  difference  whether  you  love  Him 
or  not ! " 

"Yes,  it  does,"  she  said,  wiping  her  eyes.  "And 
on  the  strength  of  that  I'll  beat  him  up  a  raw  ^^^^ 
with  a  spoonful  of  brandy,  and  see  if  I  can  make  him 
swallow  it.  La  !  the  raw  eggs  I  made  your  ma  worry 
down  !     It's  a  wonder  they  didn't  bring  her  to  !  " 

That  night  after  tea  father  went  to  his  room  as 
usual.  I  watched  for  him  when  he  opened  the  door 
to  come  out.  It's  a  good  time  to  tell  people  bad  news 
when  they've  been  praying. 

I  went  in  and  shut  the  door.  He  saw  how  my  lips 
quivered,  and  that  I  couldn't  get  out  a  word. 

''  What  is  it,  dear  ?  "  he  said.     "  Frank  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  father.     Samuel." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know,"  he  said.  "  We've  got  to  let 
Samuel  go." 

"  Oh,  father !  But  I  feel  such  a  weight  gone,  now 
that  I've  found  out  that  you  know  it !  " 

"  I  wa's  not  likely  not  to  know,"  he  said.  "  I  only 
had  you  two." 

And  then,  for  two  or  three  minutes,  I  thought  his 
heart  was  breaking. 


280  PEMAQUID. 

"  We  have  everything  to  be  thankful  for,"  he  said, 
at  last.  "  We  have  Samuel  at  home  with  us,  and  can 
do  everything  for  his  comfort.  Then  the  change  in 
your  mother !  Think  of  that !  And  then  look  at  the 
way  God  has  ripened  him  for  heaven  !  " 

Then  we  knelt  down,  and  gave  ourselves  and  Samuel 
and  everything  we  had  to  God.  We  kept  back  nothing, 
nothing. 

Oh,  how  strong  I  felt  after  that  prayer ! 

And  we  needed  all  our  strength,  for  it  was  days, 
and  not  weeks  and  months,  that  Samuel  was  spared 
to  us. 

He  did  not  suffer  any  pain,  but  would  lie  quietly 
for  hours,  lost  in  his  own  thoughts.  Mother  was  a 
great  comfort  to  him,  and  to  us  all,  giving  herself  no 
rest  day  or  night,  exactly  as  if  he  were  her  own  son. 
And  no  tongue  can  tell  how  all  that  was  tenderest 
and  best  in  Kezia  came  out  then.  Sometimes  his 
mind  would  wander,  and  he  would  fancy  he  was  a  lit- 
tle boy,  and  would  coax  her  to  sing  the  queer  old 
songs  she  used  to  sing  to  us  when  we  were  children, 
and  thought  her  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world. 
Then  she  is  stronger  than  father  even,  and  would 
snatch  him  out  of  bed,  and  hold  him  in  her  arms, 
and  rock  him  just  as  she  did  when  he  was  a  baby, 
while  mother  and  I  put  on  fresh  sheets  and  pillow- 
cases. I  had  entirely  forgotten  the  song  we  used  to 
call  ''  Kezia's  glory-song,"  because  she  stretched  out 
the  last  words  all  the  way  to  the  meeting-house : 


R  UTWS  JO  URNAL.  281 

*'  Listen,  lad,  and  listen,  lass. 

To  my  wondrous  story. 
Till  you  clap  your  hands  and  shout, 

Glor}%  glory,  glory ! 
On  a  cold  and  rosty  night 

Shepherd's  watched  their  sheep. 
Lest  the  bears  and  lions  come 

And  eat  them  in  their  sleep. 
Suddenly  they  saw  a  light 

Shinin'  in  the  sky, 

*  Oh,  what's  that  ?  '  they  all  cried  out. 

'  Brothers,  let  us  fly  ! ' 
But  a  great  white  angel 

Came  upon  the  wing, 
Said  :  '  Good  tidings,  shepherds, 

Unto  you  1  bring ; 
Yea,  I  bring  you  tidings 

Wonderful  and  true. 
For  a  little  Babe  is  born. 

And  is  born  for  you  ! ' 

*  What !  for  us  poor  shepherds  rough, 

Is  it  born  indeed  ? 
Can  we  men  an  infant  nurse. 
Understand  its  need  ?  ' 

*  Nay,  thou  fooHsh  fellow. 

He  is  Christ  the  Lord, 
He  for  all  your  wants  shall  care, 

Grace  and  peace  afford. 
You  shall  find  the  Infant 

In  a  manger  laid  : 
Go  and  see  this  mighty  sight, 

Do  not  be  afraiv^.' 
Suddenly  above  their  heads 

Other  angels  came, 
Singin',  Glory  be  to  God, 

Blessed  be  His  name  ! 


282  P  EM  A  QUID. 

Glory,  glory  be  to  God, 

Glory,  glory,  glory  ! 
Spread  the  story,  spread  the  news. 

Sing  the  wondrous  story  ! 
Then  the  angels  flew  away, 

Singing  as  they  flew. 
And  the  shepherds  stood  and  cried, 

*  Is  the  story  true? 
Let  us  go  to  Bethlehem, 

This  Infant  for  to  see ; 
He  who  runs  and  gets  there  first 

The  luckiest  will  be  ! ' 
So  they  ran,  and  Mary  found — 

Joseph  found  also. 
And  before  the  httle  Babe 

Down  they  bended  low  ; 
Then,  returning  home,  they  sang, 
Glory,  glory  be  to  God  ; 

Glory,  glor}',  glory ! 
Spread  the  story,  spread  the  news, 

Sing  the  wondrous  sto — ry  !  " 

Poor  Kezia !  How  she  loved  Samuel !  She  was 
here  when  he  was  born,  and  though  she  was  only  a 
Httle  girl  then,  she  was  the  first  to  have  him  in  her 
arms.  Father  says  he  remembers  just  how  she  looked 
at  that  moment.  She  takes  his  death  very  much  to 
heart,  and  says  more  than  ever  about  living  consist- 
ent. 

Mother  has  taken  a  class  in  the  Sunday-school. 
She  and  father  have  persuaded  a  great  many  of  the 
factory  girls  to  come,  and  everybody  who  can  teach 
has  to  have  a  class ;  even  I  have  some  of  these  big 
girls.     It  does  not  seem  right ;  I  am  so  ignorant,  and 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  283 

get  so  frightened.  I  am  afraid  I  would  rather  stay 
at  home  with  baby.  But  mother  says  she  is  just  as 
ignorant  as  I  am,  and  not  near  so  fit  to  have  a  class. 
And  as  to  baby,  I  feel  very  unfit  to  obey  the  last 
charge  my  beloved  brother  gave  me  when  he  said, 
*'  You  will  be  his  father,  and  his  mother,  too.  I 
charge  you  to  train  him  up  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord 
and  for  the  glory  of  Jesus  Christ !  " 

Who  am  I  that  I  should  have  a  child  to  train?  I 
can  not  see  why  God  should  be  so  good  to  me. 

Samuel  grew  very  fond  of  mother  before  he  died. 
He  thought  she  was  his  own  mother,  and  hated  to 
have  her  out  of  his  sight.  He  was  her  boy,  and 
made  her  love  him.  When  he  had  gone,  she  quite 
broke  down,  and  father  forgot  himself  in  trying  to 
comfort  her. 

'^  I  have  been  in  Christ's  school  longer  than  you, 
my  dear,"  he  would  say,  ''  and  I  ought  to  know  its 
rules  better  than  you  do,  and  keep  them  better. 
And  the  first  rule  I  ever  learned  was  to  ask  no  ques^ 
t  ions  J' 

Mother  catches  a  thing  quickly.  She  looked  up 
and  smiled  through  her  tears  when  he  said  that.  We 
never  heard  her  say  again  that  she  wished  she  knew 
why,  when  Sam  ael  was  making  us  all  so  happy,  God 
should  think  it  best   to  take  him  away. 


284  PEMAQUID, 

MRS.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 

Such  genuine  grief  as  the  death  of  Samuel  has 
caused  us  all  is  hard  to  bear.  But  my  share  is  hardest, 
for  there  are  mingled  with  my  sorrow  pangs  of  self- 
reproach  unknown  to  the  rest.  How  I  alienated  his 
heart  from  me  and  drove  him  from  his  home  !  But 
God  has  been  very  good  to  me.  The  dear  boy  came 
to  love  me  as  dearly  as  I  did  him.  I  had  the  fond- 
est caresses  from  his  transparent  hands,  and  at  last 
his  eye  followed  me  if  I  left  his  side  ;  and  when  I  re- 
turned he  welcomed  me  as  if  I  were  his  own  mother. 
Ruth  had  the  whole  care  of  the  baby,  and  it  was  de- 
lightful to  find  myself  necessary  to  Samuel  in  conse- 
quence. Mr.  Woodford  was  very  kind  and  affection- 
ate, and  put  down  his  own  grief  in  order  to  comfort 
mine.  And  hov/  different  is  the  pure  sorrow  I  suffer 
now  from  the  wicked,  worldly  sufferings  of  most  of 
my  life !  This  pain  has  the  sweetest,  the  most  sub- 
lime consolations  mingled  with  it ;  no  one  who  has 
experienced  them  needs  any  other  argument  to  prove 
that  Christianity  is  true.  I  envy  now  ministers  of  the 
Gospel  who  have  the  privilege  of  preaching  to  others 
what  they  have  themselves  learned  in  their  own  won- 
derful experience  of  God's  presence,  when  beloved 
ones  have  passed  out  of  their  sight.  Mr.  Strong 
does  this  like  one  inspired,  and  in  her  own  less 
public  way  so  does  his  wife. 


KEZIA  BECOMES  A   GREAT  COMFORT,  285 

KEZIA   BECOMES  A   GREATER  COMFORT  THAN   EVER. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Mis'  Woodford,  I  aint  forgot  that  you 
was  hard  on  the  boy ;  but  then  he  was  an  obstreper- 
ous lad,  all  along  from  the  time  he  was  fourteen  till 
he  got  to  be  a  man.  Boys  is  that  way  unless  they're 
uncommon  of  their  kind.  And  you  wasn't  brought 
up  like  us  folks  in  Pemaquid,  and  all  our  ways  seemed 
queer  to  you  and  all  your  ways  seemed  queer  to  us. 
La !  the  first  time  you  and  Juliet  got  down  on  your 
knees  to  meetin',  you  never  see  how  we  was  all  struck 
of  a  heap  !  We  thought  nobody  but  Papishers  got 
down  on  their  knees  to  meetin'.  But  we  don't  none 
of  us  mind  it,  now  we've  got  used  to  it.  And  you 
was  dreadful  good  to  Samuel  all  the  time  he  was  sick, 
and  you've  no  call  to  think  hard  of  yourself  for  what 
you  did  before  you  met  with  a  change.  I'm  sure 
you're  livin'  consistent  now,  and  have  mourned  over 
your  sins  till  you've  growed  so  poor  I  don't  believe 
you  weigh  a  hundred  pound.  And  though  it  come 
awful  hard  to  give  Samuel  up,  it  aint  as  if  he  hadn't 
gone  to  glory,  and  we  don't  sorrow  as  them  as  hasn't 
no  hope.  And  the  Squire's  gittin'  over  his  grief 
a-comfortin'  you,  and  our  Ruth  won't  never  go  away 
now  after  no  spark ;  and  me,  I've  come  back  for  good, 
and  you,  Mis'  Woodford,  has  growed  so  agreeable, 
and  take  it  all  together  our  cup  is  runnin'  over. 
And  then,  as  if  that  was  not  enough,  there  s  a  baby 
throzved  in  !  '' 


XXV. 

"Where  did  you  come  from,  baby  dear? 
Out  of  the  everywhere  into  here. 

*'  Where  did  you  get  your  eyes  so  blue? 
Out  of  the  sky  as  I  came  through. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  little  tear? 
I  found  it  waiting  when  I  got  here." 

ruth's  journal. 

IT  was  New  Year's  Day,  and  everybody  in  the  house, 
and  some  out  of  it,  made  baby  a  holiday  present. 
We  had  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Strong  to  tea,  and  they  came 
early  and  went  early,  because  Father  Strong  can  not 
be  up  late.  After  they  had  gone,  I  put  baby  to  bed 
with  his  hands  full  of  his  new  playthings,  and  some 
under  his  pillow,  and  then  I  began  to  pick  up  and  put 
away  things,  and  get  the  sitting-room  to  rights  for 
the  evening,  as  I  always  do.  The  lamps  were  lighted, 
the  fire  snapped  and  sparkled  on  the  hearth,  father's 
light  stand  was  drawn  up  to  it,  and  mother's  rocking- 
chair  was  on  the  other  side.  Everything  looked 
cheerful,  and  happy,  and  cosy  ;  perhaps  all  the  more 
so  because  the  wind  was  rising  and  a  snow-storm  was 

coming  on.     I  thought  I  would  take  in  the  door-mat 

(286) 


When  I  opened  the  door  a  heavy  body  fell  in."        Page  287. 


RUTH'S  JOURNAL.  287 

before  the  snow  began  to  fall,  but  when  I  opened  the 
door  a  heavy  body  fell  in.  I  was  so  surprised  that  I 
cried  out,  and  Kezia  came  running  with  a  lamp. 
Then  we  found  a  half-frozen  man  lying  in  the  door- 
way, so  that  we  could  not  close  it.  Kezia  lifted  him 
up  in  her  great,  strong  arms  and  carried  him  into  the 
kitchen  and  laid  him  on  the  floor  by  the  fire.  Then 
the  light  shone  on  his  face,  and  though  it  was  dread- 
fully changed,  I  knew  it  was  Frank.  Then  there  came 
a  little  weak  cry,  and  we  found  he  had  a  very  young 
and  very  tiny  baby  under  his  coat.  I  lifted  it  up  ;  it 
had  an  old,  wrinkled  face,  and  when  I  offered  it  some 
warm  milk,  it  drank  it  as  if  it  was  half-starved.  By 
this  time  mother  had  come  from  her  room,  and  she 
ran  for  some  brandy,  and  she  and  Kezia  did  all  they 
could  to  restore  Frank.  But  he  was  very  much  ex- 
hausted, and  was  put  to  bed  by  Kezia,  who  snorted 
privately  to  herself  meanwhile. 

When  she  came  back  to  the  kitchen  she  snorted 
more  publicly. 

"  There,  hand  me  that  'ere  young  one,"  she  said, 
"you've  got  your  hands  full  with  your  own  baby, 
and  this  imp  is  a-goin'  to  sleep  along  o'  me.  Not 
that  I  can  abide  the  sight  on  it ;  humph  !  I'll  git 
down  the  cradle  and  put  it  in  that  daytimes,  and  I'll 
lay  a  bolster  between  it  and  me  nights." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say  or  do.  Where  was 
Juliet?  Was  this  her  child?  And  why  had  Frank 
come  here  ? 


288  FEMAQUID. 

Mother  looked  pale  and  frightened,  and  did  not 
know  what  to  think.  How  our  pleasant  evening  was 
suddenly  overcast ! 

At  last  I  began  to  come  to  my  senses. 

"  Kezia,"  I  said,  ''  what  do  you  mean  by  saying 
you'll  put  a  bolster  between  you  and  this  poor  little 
baby?" 

"  Why,  do  you  suppose  I'd  let  Juliet  Pickett's 
young  one  lay  alongside  of  me  nights,  and  toucJi  me  ? 
I'll  take  care  of  the  creetur,  and  warm  it,  and  clothe 
it,  and  feed  it,  because  Providence  has  sent  i-t  here ; 
and  you've  no  call  to  nuss  it,  because  you've  a  baby 
of  your  own.  But,  my  patience  !  I  aint  a-goin'  to 
love  it !  No,  Scrawny,  you  needn't  expect  me  to  love 
you.  But  you  won't  have  nothin'  to  complain  of. 
I'll  do  my  duty  by  you,  you  may  depend.  And  I 
guess  I'll  put  the  clothes  you've  got  on  into  the 
pounding-barrel  and  give  'em  a  good  pounding,  for 
blacker  clothes  I  never  see.  And  whilst  I'm  a-doin* 
of  it,  Ruth,  you  have  an  eye  to  the  soft-soap  I  was  a- 
makin' ;  it's  coming  beautiful.  And  I  guess  I'll  put  off 
dyeing  the  stockin's  till  next  week.  The  sugar-loaf 
paper'll  keep,  and  I  can  dye  with  it  next  week  as  well 
as  this  ;  and  this  young  one  wont  keep  unless  it's 
seen  to  right  away.  Well !  if  anybody 'd  told  me  I'd 
shirk  the  soap  and  put  off  the  dyeing  for  a  young  one 
of  Juliet  Pickett's  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  I  Why, 
Church  Fast  stands  fust,  and  Thanksgivin'  next,  and 
making  a  barrel  of  soft-soap  next,  and  dyeing  w  ith 


R  UTH'S  JO  URNAL.  289 

sugar-loaf  paper  next.  And  somehow  or  other  this 
baby  has  crep'  in  and  upset  'em  all.  I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  I  stayed  away  from  Church  Fast  and  Thanks- 
givin',  just  for  Scrawny  !  " 

The  next  morning  when  Kezia  went  to  look  after 
Frank  she  found  him  in  a  high  fever  ;  he  did  not 
know  her,  but  imagined  her  to  be  Juliet,  and  shrank 
from  her  with  great  aversion.  Kezia  had  been  up  half 
the  night  with  the  puny,  wailing  child,  and  was  in 
none  too  sweet  a  frame  of  mind. 

''  There  aint  an  end  to  one  kind  of  temptation  be- 
fore another  comes  a  ravin'  and  a  tearin'  in.  Now 
here's  our  Ruth's  spark  come  a  quarterin'  of  himself 
and  his  young  one  onto  us,  and  what  for,  I  want  to 
know  ?     Why,  to  rile  up  my  feelin's  dreadful." 

Notwithstanding  which  she  would  not  let  me  touch 
the  new  baby,  and  handled  it  skillfully  herself,  ad- 
dressing to  it,  meanwhile,  anything  but  compliment- 
ary remarks. 

''  Come,  you  little  bag  of  bones,  and  be  washed  and 
dressed.  La !  was  you  ever  washed  before  in  your 
life  ?  I  declare,  there's  eight  places  where  the  skin's 
off!  No  wonder  you  wailed  in  the  night.  And  you've 
no  call  to  eat  up  my  fingers.  There's  plenty  of  milk, 
and  that'll  agree  with  you  better'n  Kezia  would." 

Mother  does  not  take  to  either  Frank  or  the  baby. 

And  Frank  has  such  an  aversion  to  Kezia  that  he'will 

not  let  her  do  anything  for  him.     So  the  care  comes 

on  father  and  on  me.     And  I  ought  not  to  pretend 
13 


290  PEMAQUID. 

that  I  nurse  him  out  of  love.  Love  was  buried  long 
ago  in  a  very  deep  grave.  But  Providence  has  sent 
him  and  his  child  here,  and  it  is  plainly  our  duty  to 
do  what  we  can  for  him.     And  that  is  very  little. 

Frank  is  more  conscious  now,  and  does  not  take 
Kezia  for  Juliet  any  more.  And  if  she  isn't  full  of 
the  milk  of  human  kindness,  nobody  is. 


MRS.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 

The  wreck  of  what  was  once  a  brilliant,  talented 
young  man  has  drifted  to  our  door,  and  we  have 
taken  him  into  port.  To  me  his  mutterings  are  in- 
tolerable, and  I  shrink  from  entering  his  room.  What 
has  become  of  my  poor,  misguided  Juliet?  Is  she 
dead?  or  what  is  worse,  has  she  deserted  her  hus- 
band and  child  ?  It  is  not  likely  I  shall  ever  know, 
for  Frank's  intellect  is,  I  fully  believe,  wholly  de- 
throned. Well,  I  must  bear  this  uncertainty  in  faith 
and  patience.  Ruth's  task  is  not  a  hard  one.  She 
is  fond  of  nursing  the  sick,  and  there  is  little  to  do  for 
Frank.  Kezia  is  the  one  to  be  pitied.  That  sickly, 
peevish,  moaning  child  is  enough  to  wear  out  even 
her  strong  constitution.  No  maternal  instinct  at- 
tracts me  to  the  unhappy  little  being.  Nothing  tells 
me  this  is  JuHet's  child.     And  yet  it  must  be  hers. 


LAWYER  SNELL  CALLS  TO  SEE  KEZLA.  291 

LAWYER  SNELL   CALLS   TO   SEE   KEZIA. 

"  Well,  Kezia,  my  good  woman,  I  hear  you  are,  as 
usual,  wide  awake  and  stirring  round,  though  you  are 
afflicted  with  a  feeble  female  child  on  your  hands. 
It  is  a  mysterious  Providence.  I  thought  I  would 
just  step  over  and  try  to  sustain  you  in  your  path  of 
duty." 

"  My  path  of  duty  ?  Who  says  it's  a  path  of  duty  ? 
Was  I  to  let  a  poor  little  wailing  infant  die  because 
I  liked  to  lay  abed  and  take  my  ease?  You've  heard 
it  kep'  me  awake  nights  ?  Well,  who  do  my  nights 
belong  to  if  they  don't  belong  to  me  ?  You  think 
it's  a  dreadful  scrawny  infant?  Is  it  any  scrawnier 
than  you  be  ?  And  hasn't  it  a  right  to  be  scrawny  if 
it's  a  mind  ?  Poor  little  deserted  lamb,  has  folks  got 
to  come  and  poke  fun  at  its  skin  and  bones  ?  What 
if  there  wasn't  no  love  lost  between  its  ma  and  me, 
am  I  to  let  it  starve  to  death  to  spite  her,  when  its 
livin'  would  spite  her  more  ?  What  have  I  got  ag'inst 
this  poor  little  motherless  rag-baby?  Why,  I  aint 
got  nothin'  ag'inst  it.  And  if  you'd  got  any  heart 
amongst  them  old  yaller  bones  of  your'n  you'd  see 
forty  reasons  why  I  should  be  good  to  it.  However, 
one's  enough  for  me.  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  it, 
and  that's  enough.'* 

"  But,  Kezia,  I've  always  thought  a  great  deal  of 
you,  and  it  puts  me  out  to  see  you  wearing  yourself 
to  death  for  this  miserable  infant.     Better  send  it  to 


292  PEMAQUID. 

the  poor-house,  and  then  the  town  will  have  to  pay 
the  expenses  of  its  funeral.  And  IVe  been  thinking 
it's  pretty  lonesome  for  me  at  home,  and  IVe  always 
thought  a  good  deal  of  you,  and  I'm  pretty  well-to- 
do  in  the  world,  and  I  aint  never  riled  by  your  tem- 
per ;  I  rather  like  it,  for  you  know  it's  mostly  put  on, 
and  if  we  could  have  our  names  read  out  in  meetin', 
and  the  parson  join  us  two,  it  would  be  quite  a  rise 
in  the  world  for  you  and  make  me  very  comfortable. 
You've  got  a  penny  laid  by,  and  you're  an  elegant 
cook,  and  I  declare,  Kezia,  there  wasn't  a  better- 
looking  woman  in  the  parish  than  you  till  you  took 
in  this  wretched  infant.  Come,  now,  say  the  word 
and  we'll  be  one." 

"  Do  you  see  that  broom.  Lawyer  Snell  ?  Well, 
I'll  lay  it  across  your  shoulders  if  you  ever  come 
prowling  into  my  kitchen  ag'in.  What  have  I  done, 
I  want  to  know,  that  you  suppose  I'd  part  with  a 
poor  little  bag  of  bones  that's  got  a  soul  in  it,  any- 
how, and  our  Ruth,  and  the  Squire,  and  Mis'  Wood- 
ford to  go  to  be  '  one  '  with  you  ?  Yes,  it  would  be 
one  with  a  vengeance !  I  should  be  in  your  house 
and  you  nowheres !  " 

Sings : 

Well,  off  he  sneaked  from  out  the  room 
When  I  made  for  him  with  the  broom : 
'Twas  well  for  him  and  well  for  me 
There  wasn't  assault  and  battery. 
Me  leave  the  folks  I  love  so  well. 
To  go  and  marry  Lawyer  Snell  ? 


jR  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  293 

Me  leave  this  puny,  wailing  thing, 

To  get  a  old  brass  weddin'  ring  ? 

No,  Scrawny,  it  aint  come  to  that, 

I'll  nurse  you  if  it  lays  me  flat. 

Not  that  I  ever  loved  your  pa, 

Or  ever  could  abide  your  ma. 

But  if  I  would  consistent  be 

I  must  from  all  temptation  flee. 

To  hate  you  for  your  parents'  sake, 

Or  angry  be  when  kep'  awake 

By  your  incessant  wails  at  night — 

No,  I  must  do  the  thing  that's  right. 

And  so  I  will,  with  all  my  might. 

And  as  for  Lawyer  Snell,  I  see 

All  that  the  man  would  have  of  me. 

My  savings  earnt  through  many  a  year 

Of  toil  and  care  and  labor  here. 

To  be  his  cook  and  make  his  pies, 

And  then  to  nurse  him  till  he  dies. 

I  thank  you  kindly.  Lawyer  Snell, 

I  like  this  baby  far  too  well 

To  go  and  be  a  slave  to  you. 

So  we're  not  one  and  we  are  two. 


RUTH'S  JOURNAL. 

It  IS  plain  that  poor  Frank's  days  are  numbered, 
and  that  his  mind  has  gone.  And  who  knows  whether 
he  was  in  his  sound  senses  when  he  married  Juliet  ? 
All  she  ever  wrote  about  him  was  that  he  could  not 
sleep.  At  any  rate  I  have  fully  forgiven  him  for  all 
he  ever  did  to  harm  me,  and  am  perfectly  willing  to 
go  on  nursing  him  as  long  as  God  pleases  to  prolong 
his  life.     I  was  a  silly,  obstinate  girl  to  love  him  as  I 


294  PEMAQUID. 

did,  and  how  thankful  I  am  now  that  I  was  not  allow- 
ed to  have  my  own  way  and  cast  in  my  lot  with  his. 
How  much  happier  we  all  should  be  if  we  had  the 
temper  of  little  children,  and  let  God  guide  us  with- 
out undertaking  to  have  wills  of  our  own.  How 
ridiculous  it  would  be  for  my  baby  to  make  plans  for 
himself.  But  it  was  even  more  foolish  for  me  to  im- 
agine I  knew  what  was  good  for  me. 

Mother  is  troubled  that  she  does  not  take  to  the 
new  baby,  but  I  don't  think  she  ought.  She  is  very 
kind  to  it,  and  does  all  she  can  to  favor  Kezia  about 
the  housework,  because  the  sickly  child  needs  so  much 
time.  But  she  can  not  make  herself  realize  that  she 
is  its  grandmother,  having  no  proof  that  she  is.  We 
all  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  she  is.  As  to  Kezia, 
she  has  taken  up  ''Scrawny,"  as  she  calls  her,  as  some 
people  approach  vice,  and  she  "  first  endured,  then 
pitied,  then  embraced  "  it. 

She  thinks  herself  in  only  the  first  stage,  that  of 
endurance,  and  goes  about  looking  like  a  martyr. 
But  if  any  one  suggests  that  ''  Scrawny  "  is  sickly,  or 
peevish,  or  troublesome,  she  is  up  in  arms  in  a  minute. 
I  do  not  doubt  she  would  pluck  out  her  eyes  for 
it.  And  it  fills  up  an  empty  place  in  her  big  heart 
without  crowding  any  of  us  out  of  it.  She  exhibits 
the  poor,  pitiful,  sad  little  creature  that  has  never 
smiled  since  it  came  here,  two  months  ago,  with  as 
much  pride  and  delight  as  if  she  was  its  mother  or 
had  created   it  herself.      Dear    good,   faithful  soul ! 


R  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  295 

And  Mrs.  Strong  keeps  coming  to  see  her  and  hold 
councils  with  her  over  it  when  it  is  particularly  out  of 
sorts,  and  I  really  believe  they  both  of  them  love  it 
better  than  any  healthy  child  in  the  world.  Mrs. 
Strong  feels  very  tender  toward  all  sick  children. 

Mother's  most  intimate  friends,  out  of  her  own 
house,  are  the  three  at  the  parsonage.  There  is  noth- 
ing she  will  not  do  for  them.  And,  considering  that 
she  is  not  naturally  fond  of  children,  and  regards  the 
new  baby  as  Kezia's  property,  not  her  own,  I  think 
she  is  very  patient  with  the  noise  and  the  trouble  the 
poor  little  creature  makes.  For  mother  is  not  strong, 
and  when  she  loses  her  sleep  she  is  easily  upset.  I 
think  it  a  mercy  that  she  does  not  try  to  take  care  of 
the  baby,  as  she  would  do  if  she  realized  it  as  her  grand- 
child, for  she  is  utterly  unfit  to  be  up  with  it  nights. 

Of  course  Frank  expected  to  leave  his  own  and 
Juliet's  child  in  our  care,  and  then  lie  down  and  die 
in  peace.  And  if  Keiza  gets  worn  out  with  it,  as  I 
fear  she  will,  I  shall  change  babies  with  her,  even  if 
it  kills  me.  Why  not?  Why  should  all  the  wear 
and  tear  come  upon  her,  and  I  take  nothing  but  solid 
comfort  for  my  share  ? 

I  am  a  good  deal  ashamed  that  I  do  not  love  the 
little  creature  half  as  well  as  I  do  my  own  baby.  As 
soon  as  Frank  dies  I  shall  spend  a  day  of  fasting  and 
prayer,  that  God  would  make  me  as  thoroughly  for- 
giving as  He  is,  and  if  I  have  any  secret  shrinking 
from  Juliet's  infant,  to  give  me  true  repentance  and 
a  tenderer  heart. 


XXVI. 

"Am  I  in  earth,  in  heaven,  or  in  hell  ? 
Sleeping  or  waking?  mad  or  well-advised  ? 
Known  unto  these,  and  to  myself  disguised? 

'The  strongest  plume  in  wisdom's  pinion 
Is  the  memory  of  past  folly  !  " 


MRS.   STRONG  CALLS  ON  MRS.   WOODFORD. 

"  A /[IS'  WOODFORD  aint  to  home  this  afternoon, 
■'-'-'-  Mis'  Strong,  and  Ruth  she's  gone  with  her, 
and  aint  to  home  neither.  Come  into  the  kitchen 
and  set  right  down  in  the  chimbly  corner,  and  I'll 
heave  a  couple  of  sticks  onto  the  fire  in  no  time. 
You've  been  to  Bosting,  haven't  you  ?  Well,  the 
wonderfullest  things  has  happened  while  you  was 
gone.  That  'ere  blessed  baby  aint  no  more  Mis' 
Woodford's  grandchild  than  I  be.  What  do  you 
think  of  that,  Mis'  Strong?     I'll  tell  you  all  about  it. 

(Baby  begins  to  cry). 
•     "  There,  now,  come  to  its  own  Keziey,  so  it  shall. 
Snuggle  its  little  head  down  onto  her,  and  keep  still 
while  she  talks  to  Mis'  Strong.     She's  Kezia's  ownty, 

downty  minister's  wife,  and  baby  must  keep  stilly  so 

(290) 


MRS.  STRONG  CALLS.  297 

it  must.  There  now,  eat  its  little  thumb,  and  make 
believe  its  little  thumb  is  its  ma. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  a-sayin*,  one  mornin'  I  went  to 
Frank  Weston's  room,  and  lo  and  behold  he  wasn't 
there  !  He  had  been  better'n  usual  for  a  week ;  his 
fever  had  gone  and  his  mind  had  come  back,  though 
he  looked  like  a  livin'  skeleton.  He  came  out  to  see 
his  baby,  and 

"  '  Kezia,'  says  he,  *  you  seem  fond  of  that  poor  lit- 
tle creature,'  says  he. 

"  '  So  I  be,'  says  I. 

'*  *  Would  it  be  a  great  trial  to  go  on  caring  for  it 
till  it  is  old  enough  to  thrive  in  my  clumsy  hands? ' 
says  he. 

'^  I  turned  as  red  as  fire. 

*' '  You  don't  mean  that  Ruth's  to  have  a  baby, 
and  poor  old  Kezia  have  hers  tore  out  of  her  heart 
by  the  roots  ?  '  says  I. 

"  '  Do  you  really  love  the  child  ?  '  says  he.  '  Would 
it  pain  you  to  part  with  it  ? '  says  he,  his  lips  all  of  a 
tremble,  for  he  hadn't  got  his  strength  back  by  no 
manner  of  means. 

"  I  bursted  out  crying  at  that,  and  don't  know  what  I 

said  ;  but  he  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and  kissed  it 

over  and  over  again,  and  then  handed  it  back  to  me 

and  went  out,  but  pretty  soon  he  came  hurrying  in 

and  pressed  it  to  his  heart,  and  put  his  hand  on  its 

head  and  blessed  it. 

" '  I  meant  to  give  her  to  Ruth,*  says  he, '  but  I  see 
13* 


298  PEMAQUID. 

she  has  her  hands  and  her  heart  full  of  her  own  child/ 
says  he.    *  Kezia,  did  she  marry  Josiah  Stone  ? '  says  he. 

"  Massy  sakes  alive  !  Goody  gracious  me  !  I 
thought  I  should  drop. 

"'Marry  Josiah  Stone!'  I  screeched  out.  *  Our 
Ruth  /     You  are  crazy  ! ' 

"  *  Who  did  she  marry,  then  ?  '  says  he. 

"  *  She  aint  married  to  nobody.  'Tain't  her  baby. 
It*s  our  SamueVs  /  ' 

"  He  sot  right  down  in  the  fust  chair  he  see,  as  if 
he  was  shot. 

"  *  I  am  goin'  to  give  you  a  piece  of  my  mind,  Frank 
Weston,'  says  I.  *  What  bizness  had  you  to  bring 
Juliet  Pickett's   young   one  to  our  Ruth  ? '    says  I. 

*  Did  you  suppose  she'd  touch  it  with  a  pair  of  tongs  ? ' 
says  I. 

" '  Juliet  Pickett's  young  one  ?  '  says  he.  '  Why,  Ke- 
zia Millet,  do  you  imagine,  do  any  of  the  rest  of  them 
imagine  that  this  is  her  child  ? ' 

"  '  Of  course,  we  never  thought  nothin'  else,'  says  I. 

*  Why  should  we  ?  *  says  I.  '  Didn't  she  run  off  to  get 
married  to  you  ? '  says  I. 

"  He  actually  began  to  pound  himself  on  the  for- 
rerd,  as  if  he  meant  to  beat  his  brains  out.  And  then 
.he  all  but  fainted  away. 

"  When  he  come  to,  *  The  sooner  I  leave  this  house 
the  better,'  says  he.  '  There's  terrible  mistakes  all 
round,'  says  he.  *  I  did  not  marry  Juliet,  and  this  is 
not  her  child.     I  must  write  and  explain  everything.' 


MRS.  STjROJVG  calls.  299 

"  I  declare,  I  could  ha*  danced  for  joy.  I  caught 
up  the  baby,  and  if  I  kissed  it  once  I  kissed  it  forty 
times.  And  to  think  I'd  ever  slep'  with  a  bolster  be- 
tween me  and  it  because  of  Juliet  Pickett's  bein'  its 
ma !  On  the  whole,  I  believe  I  did  dance  about  the 
kitchen,  for  I  didn't  see  Frank  go  out ;  but  go  he  did, 
without  any  more  words. 

^*  It  was  a  fortnight  before  we  heard  from  him,  and 
then  he  wrote  a  long  letter,  saying  he  had  not  mar- 
ried Juliet  after  all.  It  seems  she'd  played  the  hyp- 
ocrite, and  made  believe  she'd  met  with  a  change, 
and  at  the  last  minnit  he  found  her  out,  and  charged 
her  with  it,  and  all  the  love  he  thought  he  felt  for  her 
melted  away.  She  declared  she'd  never  go  back  to 
Pemaquid,  to  be  everybody's  laughing  stock;  and 
he  suspected — though  he  did  not  know  it — that  she 
never  let  her  ma  mistrust  that  she  wasn't  married. 
At  any  rate,  she  said  she  never  should  tell  her. 

"After  he  got  his  eyes  open  he  went  away  and 
kep'  school.  He  knew  our  Ruth  would  never  look  at 
him  again,  and  there  was  a  good,  pious  little  girl  in 
the  family  where  he  boarded,  and  he  got  married  to 
her.  But  she  was  very  young  and  very  sickly,  and 
when  the  baby  came  she  died  ;  and  he  tried  to  take 
care  of  it  himself — you  know  he  was  dreadful  fond 
of  children — and,  la !  what  with  mismanaging  the  lit- 
tle thing,  and  losing  his  sleep  night  after  night,  he 
got  wore  out.  He  hadn't  any  money  to  leave  it,  and 
knew  it  would  die  if  somebody  did  not  take  extra 


300  P EM  A  QUID. 

care  of  it  out  of  love,  and  so  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
bring  it  to  our  Ruth,  confess  all  his  sins  against  her, 
and  beg  her  to  take  pity  on  the  child.  But  the  jour- 
ney was  too  much  for  him,  and  he  just  dropped,  half- 
dead,  at  our  door.  Mis'  Woodford,  she'll  show  you 
his  letter  when  she  comes  home.  We  all  had  a  great 
time  laughing  and  crying  over  it,  and  we  was  all 
sorry  that  you'd  gone  out  of  town,  and  so  couldn't 
laugh  and  cry  with  us. 

"  And  Mis'  Woodford,  she'd  always  said  she  couldn't 
cotton  to  it,  and  didn't  believe  it  was  her  grandchild ; 
and  our  Ruth,  she  said  she  didn't  want  two  babies, 
and  wouldn't  rob  me  of  mine,  and  break  my  heart  all 
to  pieces,  and  she  knew  I'd  bring  it  up  as  pious  and 
consistent  as  she  could ;  and  me  and  you,  Mis' 
Strong,  will  watch  over  it,  and  nuss  it,  and  it'll 
grow  to  be  as  plump  as  a  partridge  and  as  chirp  as  a 
robin  red-breast.  I'll  take  it  in  the  arms  of  my  faith 
and  carry  it  to  Him  who  loves  to  heal  the  sick,  and  ask 
Him  to  make  it  all  over  bran  new.  And  He  will, 
you  see  if  He  don't !  " 

Sings  : 

*'  We've  had  our  ups,  we've  had  our  dov^ns, 
But  now  it's  plain  to  see 
That  through  them  all  we  have  turned  out 

A  happy  family. 
The  Squire's  got  a  pious  wife 

That  he  can  fondly  love  : 
And  more  than  that — two  blessed  saints 
Who  live  in  heaven  above. 


FRANK   WESTON  EXPLAINS.  301 

Mis'  Woodford  has  her  cares,  'tis  true, 

But  she  has  learnt  to  rest 
Her  cause  with  One  who  never  can 

Forget  her  heart  oppressed  ; 
And  she's  a  happy  woman,  now. 

Intent  on  doin'  good. 
And  pious  as  the  day  is  long ; 

I  always  hoped  she  would. 
And  there's  our  Ruth,  as  rich  and  proud, 

As  proud  as  she  can  be. 
But  then  she  can't  a  candle  hold 

To  one  as  rich  as  me  ! 
Why,  who'd  have  thought  I'd  ever  have 

A  baby  of  my  own, 
That  with  the  eye  of  faith  I  see 

Begin  to  run  alone  ? 
We  was  a  happy  set  before — 

To  doubt  it  would  be  sin — 
And  then,  as  if  it  warn't  enough, 

Two  babies  was  throwed  in  ! 
And  I  have  said  a  hundred  times — 

To  say  it  I've  a  call — 
A  house  without  a  baby  in. 

It  ain't  no  house  at  all !  " 

FRANK  WESTON  EXPLAINS. 
I  owe  it  to  you  all,  my  dear  and  honored  friends,  to 
clear  up  the  mistakes  into  which  we  have  all  fallen.  In 
the  first  place,  then,  let  me  confess  that,  unconscious- 
ly to  myself,  I  had  become  inflated  with  spiritual 
pride,  and  was,  therefore,  ready  for  a  fall.  Satan 
knew  only  too  well  my  weak  points,  and  he  sent  a 
beautiful  tempter  to  work,  if  possible,  my  ruin.  I 
indulged  myself  in  the  notion  that  a  young  and  in- 


302  PEMAQUID. 

experienced  fellow  like  myself  could,  safely  for  either 
party,  plunge  into  a  pious  friendship  with  a  young 
lady.  There  was  honest  purpose  in  my  conduct,  but 
that  does  not  excuse  me.  We  are  responsible  for  our 
mistakes,  and  I  must  account  to  God  for  mine.  At 
the  same  time  I  was  sinned  against.  A  plot  was  laid 
to  dishonor  my  betrothed  in  my  eyes,  and  I,  who 
never  should  have  injured  her  by  so  much  as  a  thought, 
became  more  or  less  alienated  from  her,  fool  that  I 
was.  My  behavior  to  her  was  most  base  and  unmanly ; 
I  have  no  excuse  to  offer  for  such  conduct.  Almost 
in  a  frenzy  of  that  dangerous  mixture  of  sentiments, 
love  and  religion,  I  engaged  myself  to  a  being  whom 
I  beheved  to  have  become,  thanks  to  my  influence 
and  instructions,  a  ripening  saint.  You  will  hardly 
believe  that,  amid  all  this  folly,  I  still  kept  up  a  life 
of  prayer ;  through  that  the  Divine  Hand  saved  me 
at  the  eleventh  hour.  Our  wedding-day  was  fixed, 
our  arrangements  all  made ;  a  few  hours  only  sepa- 
rated me  from  a  fatal  mistake.  Secure  of  having 
gained  her  end,  my  future  wife  threw  off  her  disguise 
and  presented  herself  before  me  in  her  true  colors. 

I  had  lost  all  comfort  in  religion,  but  its  deep- 
seated,  invincible  principle  remained.  He  to  whom  I 
daily  offered  my  puny,  unsatisfactory  prayers  came  to 
my  rescue  now.  To  unite  myself  in  marriage  with 
one  who  scorned  Him  was  no  temptation.  It  cost 
me  nothing  to  part  with  her.  And  since  I  had  shown 
myself  so  weak,  so  unable  to  take  care  of  myself,  there 


FRANK  WESTON  EXPLAINS.  303 

was  but  one  course  to  pursue  :  to  tear  myself  away 
from  her  seductive  influence  at  once  and  forever. 
However  dangerous  to  her  soul  was  this  sundering  of 
ties,  I  believe  I  was  doing  the  only  thing  left  me.  A 
man  so  weak  and  human  as  I  could  not  have  saved 
her,  and  we  should  have  plunged  down  together  into 
an  abyss  of  evil. 

In  our  final  interview  I  gave  her  as  solemn  a  warn- 
ing as  a  mortal  just  escaped  from  eternal  death  could 
give  to  one  in  danger  of  it.  But  it  was  of  no  avail ; 
and  on  that  occasion  I  was  told  that  Ruth  had  en- 
gaged herself, to  Josiah  Stone,  and  was  forever  lost 
to  me. 

I  found  employment  as  a  teacher  in  a  remote  town, 
and  a  certain  peace.  In  the  family  where  I  boarded 
there  was  a  pious  little  girl.  I  can  not  explain  to 
you  why,  at  the  end  of  a  year,  I  married  her.  I  shall 
have  to  appear  in  your  eyes  as  one  who  counts  mar- 
riage a  very  trifling  thing.  Yet  this  is  not  true.  She 
never  missed  anything  in  me ;  she  was  satisfied  and 
happy.  Then  a  little  feeble  infant  came  to  me,  and 
she  stole,  away,  to  be  gone  forever.  I  tried  to  be 
both  father  and  mother  to  the  child,  and  night  after 
night,-  walked  my  room  with  it  till  I  broke  down. 
And  if  I  died,  what  would  become  of  the  child?  It 
might  die  too,  but  it  might  live  and  suffer.  My  wife 
had  no  mother,  no  sister.  What  should  I  do  ?  I 
knew  a  being  who  never  thought  of  herself  when 
needed  by  others ;  I  knew  my  misconduct  would  not 


304  PEMAQUID. 

close  her  heart  to  my  child ;  I  determined  to  appeal 
to  her  and  then  lie  down  and  die.  You  know  in  what 
a  condition  I  reached  your  house ;  you  all  know  how 
you  sheltered,  how  you  nursed  me,  how  you  brought 
me  back  to  life.  Then  I  saw  Ruth  radiant  and  happy, 
with  a  child  of  her  own,  as  I  fancied ;  and  when  that 
error  was  corrected,  learned  to  my  amazement  that 
you  all  believed  me  to  be  Juliet's  husband  and  that 
that  puny  infant  was  her  child.  I  assure  you  I  have 
never  seen  nor  heard  from  her  since  we  parted.  I 
know  she  never  meant  to  return  to  Pemaquid,  and  as 
you  hear  nothing  from  her  I  presume  she  has  mar- 
ried and  found  a  home  elsewhere. 

As  to  my  child,  it  has  nestled  its  way  into  as  honest 
and  warm  and  tender  a  heart  as  ever  beat.  How 
Kezia  nursed  me  at  times  during  my  long  illness  I 
never  can  forget.  And  as  to  Ruth's  magnanimous 
treatment  of  one  who  had  cruelly  wronged  her,  it 
would  be  an  impertinence  to  speak  of  it.  God  will 
bless  and  reward  her.     I  never  can. 

As  long  as  Kezia  Millet  is  fond  of  my  poor  little 
motherless  child,  and  you  are  willing  to  tolerate  it,  I 
shall  be  thankful  to  leave  it  in  her  charge.  If  I  re- 
gain my  health  I  shall  expect  to  meet  its  expenses 
myself.  This  is  man's  portion  in  this  life.  He  gives 
money.  Woman  gives  youth,  health,  beauty,  time, 
heart,  and  soul.  Will  the  twain  fare  alike  in  the 
world  to  come  ? 

I  have  resumed  my  theological  studies,  and  if  I 


FRANK'S  LETTER  TO  MRS.  STRONG.  305 

ever  become  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  it  will  be  as  one 
who  has  known  the  torment  of  a  furnace  of  tempta- 
tion, has  fought  with  the  tempter,  and  been  smitten 
almost  unto  death  with  his  fiery  darts.  What  lessons 
of  deep  humility  I  shall  have  to  teach  !  What  warn- 
ings to  utter  against  spiritual  pride. 

And  now,  having  humbled  myself  before  God,  I 
humble  myself  before  you  all,  entreating  your  for- 
giveness as  I  trust  I  have  obtained  it  from  Him. 

Frank  Weston. 

mrs.  woodford  reads  frank's  letter  to  mrs. 

STRONG. 

"  What  do  I  think  of  it  ?  I  think  it  is  a  sincere, 
straightforward  letter,  and  that  he  has  suffered  far 
more  from  shame  and  remorse  than  he  has  made  any 
attempt  to  tell.  Fancy  how  one  possessed  of  the 
principle  of  love  to  God  agonizes  when  all  his  joyous 
emotions  disappear,  and  he  finds  himself  standing 
stripped  and  bare  before  the  All-seeing  Eye !  Some 
souls  have  to  go  through  this  process.  I  think  Frank 
is  going  to  make  an  exceptionally  useful  man." 

"  I  know  too  little  about  Christian  experience  to 
form  any  opinion  about  it.  But  it  is  an  inexpressible 
relief  to  hear  of  Juliet.  If  Frank  had  only  had 
courage  to  marry  Juliet,  who  knows  what  he  might 
not  have  made  of  her?  " 

"  He  had  no  right  to  do  evil  that  good  might  come. 
Hers  is  the  dominant  nature.     He  would  not  have 


306  PEMAQUID. 

lifted  her  up ;  she  would  have  dragged  him  down. 
How  did  his  letter  affect  Ruth?" 

"  I  think  the  fact  that  he  did  not  marry  Juliet  was 
a  great  delight  to  her.  It  made  a  difference  about 
the  baby.  And  I  confess  it  is  a  relief  to  me  to  know 
that  I  am  not  that  child's  grandmother.  I  am  not 
fond  of  young  children.  And  this  one  is  so  unsavory, 
poor  thing.  Kezia  proposed  to  go  home  to  her 
mother's  with  it,  as  it  was  such  a  wearing  thing  to  us 
to  hear  it  cry  so  much.  But  I  would  not  listen  to  it. 
The  good  creature  deserves  every  indulgence  at  oui 
hands,  and  we  all  agree  that  she  is  as  much  one  of 
the  family  as  any  of  us.  I  don't  know  who  among 
us  all  is  the  happiest.  Sometimes  I  think  I  am  ;  and 
then  that  it  is  the  Squire,  with  his  deeper  religious 
life;  and  then  that  it  is  Ruth,  with  her  baby,  or 
Kezia,  with  hers." 

"  But  women  are  meant  to  be  wives  as  well  as 
mothers." 

"  That  may  be.  But  Kezia  would  chase  out  of  her 
kitchen  any  man  who  mentioned  matrimony  to  her; 
and  Ruth — well — Ruth^ — would  made  a  splendid  min- 
ister's wife  ;  but  she  is  contented  as  she  is,  looking 
after  the  church  with  you  and  Mr.  Strong,  and  rev- 
elling in  her  baby.  Yes,  and  we  are  beginning  to 
grow  old,  and  what  would  become  of  us  without  our 
Ruth?'-^ 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  here  is  Frank  Weston  emerg- 
ing into  ten  times  the  man  I  ever  thought  or  even 


FRANK'S  LETTER  TO  MRS.  STRONG.  307 

dreamed  he  would.  Ruth  will  get  attached  to  his 
baby  inevitably,  though  she  does  not  think  so  now. 
She  has  to  write  to  him  every  now  and  then  about  it, 
and  on  this  common  ground  they  will  meet." 

^'  She  does  not  love  him,  and  I  do  not  believe  a 
dead  and  buried  love  ever  comes  to  life  again." 

"  Well — perhaps  I  agree  with  you.  But  a  slumber- 
ing affection  may  wake  up  and  arise  refreshed  and 
strengthened." 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  had  so  much  romance  about 
you." 

"  Do  you  know  where  Frank  is  ?  " 

**  Certainly." 

**Can  you  give  me  his  address?" 

**  Certainly.  But  I  won't  have  any  matrimonial 
project  put  on  the  carpet.  We  could  not  do  without 
our  Ruth.     She  is  the  very  tower  of  our  strength." 

*'  I  have  no  matrimonial  designs  on  her.  But  for 
my  own  satisfaction,  and  because  I  have  loved  Frank 
dearly,  I  want  to  have  this  mystery  of  his  marriage 
cleared  up." 

"  You  will  find  it  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world. 
He  had  a  faculty  of  shifting  his  affections  about  at 
will." 

"  I  shall  hold  my  judgment  in  suspense  until  I  hear, 
at  any  rate.     You  can  not  object  to  that  ?  " 

"  Oh.  no  !  But  you  will  see  that  I  am  right  in  my 
opinion  of  him." 


XXVII. 

'  And  a  little  child  shall  lead  them." 

REV.   MR.   STRONG  TO   REV.    MR.   BEACH. 

DEAR  BROTHER:  In  reply  to  your  favor  just  re- 
ceived, I  am  happy  to  say  that  Frank  Weston's 
little  child  is  in  good  hands  and  doing  as  well  as 
could  be  expected.  I  had  reason  to  suppose  he  was 
kept  informed  as  to  its  welfare. 

Will  you  now  permit  me  to  ask,  if  I  may  do"  so 
without  intrusion,  what  were  the  circumstances  of 
his  marriage  to  your  daughter?  His  relations  to  my 
wife  and  myself,  and  another  family  in  my  parish, 
justify,  I  think,  our  wish  for  light  on  a  subject  very 
painful  in  some  of  its  aspects.  We  want  the  right, 
if  he  deserves  it  (I  mean  some  of  us  do),  to  reinstate 
him  in  our  affections. 

If,  however,  for  any  reason,  you  prefer  to  make  no 

reply  to  this  letter,  I  beg  you  will  feel  perfectly  free 

to  do  so. 

I  remain,  truly  yours, 

\  A.  Strong. 

/ 

]  REV.   MR.   BEACH   TO   REV.   MR.   STRONG. 

Dear  Brother  :  I   hasten  to  reply  to  your  letter 
in  regard  to  my  beloved  son-in-law,  Frank  Weston. 
(308) 


REV,  MR.  BEACH  TO  REV.  MR.  STRONG.  309 

He  came  to  this  town  to  teach  in  our  academy, 
which  is  a  flourishing  one,  designing  at  the  same  time 
to  pursue  a  theological  course  with  myself.  I  soon 
became  deeply  interested  in  him.  He  struck  me  as 
one  who  had  trodden  a  wine-press  of  suffering,  al- 
though he  never  spoke  of  himself.  It  is  thus  God 
often  trains  the  soldiers  whom  He  means  to  put  in 
the  forefront  of  the  battle. 

As  I  became  more  interested  in  him,  it  occurred 
to  me  that  it  would  be  pleasant  to  have  him  in  my 
family.  This  consisted  of  a  young  daughter  and 
myself.  We  were  lonely,  and  found  Mr.  Weston's 
society  very  congenial.  That  it  involved  any  danger 
to  my  daughter  never  crossed  my  mind.  I  looked 
upon  her  as  a  mere  child.  But  befope  many  months 
had  passed  I  became  aware  that  she  had  conceived 
an  enthusiastic  affection  for  him.  And  I  could  not 
blame  her.  A  more  attractive  young  man  I  never 
met. 

He  did  not,  however,  occupy  himself  with  my  poor 
little  girl,  or  see  what  I  saw.  And  I  should  not  have 
seen  it  myself  but  that  I  have  been  her  mother  as 
well  as  her  father  ever  since  her  birth. 

I  let  things  drift  as  long  as  I  could.  Then  I  had 
to  speak. 

He  was  very  much  surprised  and  pained,  and 
begged  me  to  tell  him  if  he  had  been  guilty  of  any 
error  in  regard  to  my  little  girl. 

I  assured  him  that  he  had  not,  but  begged  him,  if 


310  PEMAQUID. 

he  was  heart-free,  to  think  of  my  poor  child  as  fault- 
less  and  pure  a  young  girl  as  ever  lived. 

He  then  acquainted  me  with  the  fact  that  he  had 
had  dealings  with  young  ladies  that  did  him  great 
discredit  as  a  Christian  man,  and  declared  himself 
utterly  unworthy  of  my  daughter.  He  spoke  with 
great  penitence  and  humility,  and  only  endeared  him- 
self to  me  the  more  by  his  confessions.  Here  was 
pure  gold :  it  had  been  tried  in  a  fire  and  had  come 
forth  refined  for  the  Master's  use. 

He  proposed  to  leave  my  house  at  once,  but  I 
would  not  consent.  The  mischief,  as  far  as  my 
daughter  was  concerned,  was  done.  And  I  loved 
him  as  a  son.  Yet  I  reproached  myself  bitterly  for 
not  realizing  that  Alice  was  not  still  a  child.  If  he 
left  us,  however,  she  would  know  that  her  secret  was 
discovered,  and  be  overwhelmed  with  shame.  It 
seemed  best  to  think  of  some  plausible  excuse  for 
sending  her  away,  poor  child. 

The  proposal  to  depart  came,  however,  from  her- 
self. She  was  a  girl  of  high  principle.  The  moment 
she  discovered  the  state  of  her  heart  she  began  to 
meditate  on  the  best  means  of  retreating  from  a  posi- 
tion that  made  her  blush  in  the  solitude  of  her  own 
room.     All  this  I  learned  only  after  her  death. 

She  had  great  faith  in  prayer,  and  she  prayed  con- 
stantly that  she  might  be  delivered  from  this  trial  or 
be  permitted  to  find  refuge  away  from  home.  At 
last  an  occasion  offered,  and  hiding  a  sore  heart  un- 


REV.  MR.  BEACH  TO  REV.  MR.  STRONG.  311 

der  a  smiling  aspect,  she  asked  my  leave  to  go. 
But  I  was  less  courageous  than  she.  I  could  not 
part  from  her.  I  began  to  flatter  myself  that 
Frank  could  not  live  long  under  the  same  roof 
with  so  lovely  a  character,  and  not  come  in  time 
to  appreciate  it.  She  was  perfectly  modest  and 
retiring.  There  was  nothing  to  disgust,  and  every- 
thing to  attract  him. 

Yet  it  cost  him  a  great  struggle  to  decide  to 
make  her  his  wife. 

It  was  three  months  before  he  could  make  up  his 
mind  to  take  any  step  in  the  matter,  and  it  was  not 
till  he  had  spent  a  year  under  my  roof  that  the  mar- 
riage took  place.  On  his  side  there  was  no  romance, 
but  he  made  a  devoted  and  kind  husband  to  my 
child,  who,  I  am  sure,  suspected  nothing,  and  was 
happy  in  him  to  her  dying  day. 

After  she  had  gone  he  devoted  himself  to  the  babe 
like  a  woman.  It  slept  by  his  side,  he  fed,  he  dressed 
it  with  his  own  hands.  In  vain  I  pleaded  with  him 
against  a  course  of  conduct  dangerous  for  both  him- 
self and  the  child.  His  whole  soul  seemed  to  con- 
centrate itself  on  that  frail  life.  He  fought  manfully 
for  it,  risking  his  own,  for  that  active  brain  of  his 
needed  the  sleep  of  which  the  little  creature  deprived 
him.     Of  course  he  soon  broke  completely  down. 

This  occurred  in  my  absence  at  the  funeral  of  my 
father,  and  when  I  returned  he  had  disappeared  with 
the  child.     Imagine,  if  you  can,  my  distress.     My  fear 


312  PEMAQUID. 

was  that  the  ordeal  through  which  he  had  been  pass- 
ing had  partially  dethroned  his  reason,  and  that  he 
had  put  an  end  to  his  own  life  and  that  of  the  child. 
Every  effort  was  made  to  find  a  trace  oi  him,  but  in 
vain.  Brother,  if  I  had  had  no  faith  in  a  kind,  wise,  over- 
ruling Providence,  my  own  reason  would  have  given 
way.  Three  months  had  passed  and  I  mourned  him 
as  one  dead,  when  late  one  night,  an  emaciated,  pale, 
and  almost  lifeless  man,  he  returned  to  me.  His  ac- 
count of  himself  was  vague,  and  confirmed  me  in  the 
idea  that  he  was  suffering  from  brain  fever  and  not 
accountable  for  what  he  did  when  he  set  forth  on  his 
pilgrimage  to  Pemaquid.  Nor  was  he  fully  himself 
on  his  return.  His  mind  ran  on  one  idea,  namely, 
that  I  was  about  to  slay  his  child,  and  that  he  must 
take  it  away  out  of  my  reach.  Even  after  his  health 
began  decidedly  to  improve,  this  idea  haunted  him, 
and  he  refused  to  tell  me  where  he  had  placed  it.  I 
had  only  learned  that  it  was  at  Pemaquid,  and  in 
your  parish,  when  I  wrote  you. 

Frank's  health  is  now  entirely  restored,  but  he  is 
very  restless  and  uncomfortable  since  he  parted  with 
his  little  babe.  Every  time  the  mail  comes  in,  he 
rushes  to  the  office  hoping  for  news.  Can  he  not  be 
informed  regularly  how  it  thrives  ? 

Truly  yours, 

Theron  H.  Beach. 


THE  CORRESPONDENCE  DISCUSSED.    313 

MR.  AND  MRS.  STRONG  READ  THE  FOREGOING  TO- 
GETHER. 

"  Well,  husband,  I  must  own  that  I  am  greatly  re- 
lieved. It  looked  as  if  it  made  next  to  no  difference 
to  Frank  whom  he  married.  And  it  is  plain  as 
day  to  me  that  he  never  has  got  over  his  old  affection 
for  Ruth.  But  what  can  she  mean  by  neglecting  to 
let  him  hear  from  his  child  ?  I  thought  she  would 
write  every  week  or  two,  and  that  gradually  things 
would  stand  on  the  old  basis.  I  always  loved  Frank  ; 
and  I  never  liked  the  idea  of  Ruth's  being  an  old 
maid." 

"  Now,  my  dear,  don't  let  your  heart  run  away  with 
you.  Let  Frank  alone.  Ruth  is  happy  and  con- 
tented as  she  is,  and  very  useful  in  the  church,  and  a 
world  of  comfort  at  home.  And  I  do  not  think  she 
could  ever  so  thoroughly  forgive  Frank  as  to  marry 
him." 

"  That  shows  how  little  you  know  her.  When  she 
was  a  mere  child  she  took  for  her  motto  the  words, 
*  Give  and  forgive.'  You  know  how  she  responds  to 
every  appeal  for  help,  how  exactly  like  her  father  she 
is  in  searching  out  and  relieving  the  cause  she  knows 
not,  and  I  believe  she  is  just  as  generous  with  her 
affections." 

"  Now,  my  dear,  romantic  little  wife,  do  let  well 

enough  alone.     Don't  go  and  mix  yourself  up  in  any 

matrimonial  scheme  whatever.     By  the  by,  they  have 
14 


314  PEMAQUID. 

it  all  around  in  the  parish  that  Lawyer  Snell  offered 
himself  to  Kezia  Millet,  and  she  drove  him  off'  with 
her  broom.     And  now  he  is  after  the  Widow  Green." 

"  I'm  afraid  Joshua  Snell  cares  too  much  for  money. 
It  is  a  pity,  for  he  has  some  excellent  qualities." 

"  And  as  if  Kezia  would  marry  the  Lord  Mayor  of 
London,  if  it  involved  her  parting  with  that  child  ! 
I  declare,  her  devotion  to  it  is  something  perfectly 
beautiful.  Its  own  mother  could  not  have  had  a 
purer,  more  unselfish  love  for  it.  Well,  I'll  step  in  to 
see  how  it  is,  and  agree  on  some  method  of  keeping 
its  father  acquainted  with  its  condition." 

ruth's  journal. 

Kezia's  spirit  is  a  good  deal  broken  by  loss  of  sleep, 
and  after  coming  nearer  to  a  quarrel  with  her  than  I 
ever  did  in  my  life,  I  have  her  baby  in  bed  with  me, 
and  mine  in  a  crib  by  my  side.  And  I  have  got  to 
loving  it  so  that  I  dread  her  getting  strong  and  well 
again,  and  taking  it  from  me.  I  think  it  cries  less 
with  me  than  it  did  with  her,  and  it  certainly  begins 
to  grow  pretty.  I  do  believe  that  to  sleep  with  a  baby 
each  side  of  you  is  just  the  nicest,  sweetest  thing  in 
the  world  !  Dear  little  soft,  helpless  creatures.  How 
happy,  how  happy  I  am  ! 

Mrs.  Strong  has  been  here  and  reproved  me  for  not 
writing  to  the  extra  baby's  father,  who,  she  says,  is 
suffering   great    anxiety  about    it.     Certainly  I  have 


FRANK  'S  BAB  Y  TO  HER  PAPA.         315 

been  very  thoughtless  and  selfish.  I  was  so  taken  up 
with  my  own  blessed  lot  that  I  entirely  forgot  how 
lonely  and  sorrowful  his  life  must  be. 

Oh,  I  know  what  I'll  do  !  I'll  get  mother  to  write 
to  the  baby's  father.  She  is  always  so  sweet  and  kind 
about  everything  now.  And  really,  I  have  a  deal  to 
do.     I  wonder  whether  Kezia's  baby  has  any  name  ? 

I  have  asked  her,  and  she  shrinks  from  it  just  as  I 
did ;  but  Kezia  hit  on  such  a  capital  plan  that  all 
difficulties  disappear.  Kezia  is  bright  ;  there's  no 
doubt  about  it. 

"  La  !  let  the  baby  write  to  her  pa  herself!  "  quoth 
she. 

FRANK'S   BABY  TO   HER  PAPA. 

My  Dear  Papa  :  I  am  tied  into  the  high  chair  by 
Kezia's  apron,  and  am  going  to  write  you  a  letter  all 
by  myself.  When  you  went  away  I  used  to  cry  a 
great  deal,  especially  at  night,  but  Kezia  never  got 
out  of  patience  with  me,  and  would  get  out  of  bed 
and  walk  up  and  down  with  me  till  it  is  a  wonder  she 
did  not  drop.  One  thing  was,  my  clothes  were  not 
warm  enough,  and  then  they  were  too  long,  and  tangled 
my  limbs  up  so  that  I  did  not  know  which  was  which. 
I  wear  a  red  flannel  dress  now,  with  pretty  black  dots 
all  over  it,  and  have  shoes  and  stockings  on  my  feet. 
And  I  sleep  in  flannel  nightgowns,  4nd  on  a  flannel 
sheet.     I  have  got  a  silver  porringer  of  my  own,  and 


316  PEMAQUID. 

have  bread  and  milk  in  it.  And  I  have  four  Httle 
white  teeth.  Kezia  loves  me  to  distraction.  Do  you 
suppose  she  will  ever  give  me  back  to  you ?  /don't. 
And  there  is  another  thing.  What  is  my  name  ? 
Kezia  calls  me  Scrawny,  but  I  think  it  is  only  for  fun. 
And  some  of  them  call  me  the  extra  baby !  I  think, 
myself,  I  ought  to  be  named  for  my  own  mamma. 

Your  Baby. 

papa's  reply. 

My  Dear  Little  Baby:  You  arc  named  for 
your  own  mamma.  Your  name  is  Alice  Neill  Wes- 
ton. I  am  very  thankful  that  you  have  learned  to 
write,  and  if  it  is  not  asking  too  much,  I  hope  I  shall 
hear  from  you  once  a  month.  I  love  you  very  dearly, 
and  if  I  ever  have  a  home  of  my  own  shall  coax  Kezia 
to  let  you  come  there.  You  do  not  know  that  your 
papa  is  a  minister  now  and  has  preached  a  good 
many  times.  His  heart  is  in  his  blessed  work,  and 
next  to  his  work,  his  heart  is  in  Pemaquid. 

Your  Loving  Papa. 

kezia  visits  the  parsonage. 

'*  Well,  now.  Mis'  Strong,  our  Ruth's  took  both 
them  children  and  aint  left  me  none." 

"  But,  Kezia,  she  only  does  it  for  your  good.  You 
were  getting  all  worn  out  from  loss  of  sleep." 

"That's  jist  a  notion  of  our  Ruth's.  I  got  down 
in  the  mouth  one  time,  for  fear  it  wasn't  consistent 


KEZIA   VISITS  THE  PARSONAGE.       317 

to  love  a  fellow-creature  as  I  loved  that  baby.  And 
our  Ruth  thought  my  spirit  was  broke  with  hardship. 
And  then  there's  another  thing.  I  always  could  see 
through  a  millstone,  and  I  see  right  through  Frank 
Weston  when  he  was  here.  He'd  give  his  two  eyes 
to  make  up  with  our  Ruth.  And  if  he  gets  a  chance 
he'll  come  and  carry  her  off,  and  I  shall  lose  her  and 
my  baby  both  to  onct." 

"  Now  I  call  that  borrowing  trouble.  And  don't 
you  see  that  you  cant  lose  the  baby  unless  a  wise 
Providence  wills  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  wouldn't  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence." 

"  One  of  the  best  things  about  a  Christian  is  that  he 
is  not  afraid  of  evil  tidings.  He  enjoys  what  he  has 
as  long  as  it  lasts,  and  when  it  is  taken  away  he  en- 
joys God.  Take  my  word  for  it,  He  will  never  let 
anything  befall  you  that  you  can  not  justify  Him  in 
doing." 

"  Well,  it*s  strengthening  to  hear  you  talk.  You 
must  know  all  about  it  after  all  you've  been  through. 
I  expect  my  faith's  been  dreadful  weak.  And  this 
poor  wailin'  little  infant  has  got  such  a  grip  on 
my  feelin's  that  it  nigh  about  kills  me  to  see  it 
suffer.  And  yet  I'm  such  a  selfish  creetur  I'm  a-doin' 
all  I  can  to  keep  it  alive,  bless  its  little  heart.  Well, 
good-by.  Mis'  Strong,  I  won't  hinder  you  no  longer, 
for  you  have  all  the  troubles  in  the  parish  laid  right 
onto  your  shoulders.  Come,  Scrawny,  we'll  go  home, 
and  when  we  git  there  I'll  sing  to  you." 


318  FEMAQUIJD, 

"  Mis'  Strong,  she's  made  the  burden  hght 

That  weighed  upon  my  heart, 
And  made  me  see  that  from  my  babe 

I  could  consent  to  part. 
The  very  hand  that  strikes  a  blow, 

Wipes  bitter  tears  away  ; 
When  earthly  joys  and  comforts  fly, 

The  Lord  will  be  my  stay. 
Now,  precious  baby,  go  to  sleep 

Upon  my  faithful  breast ; 
Forget  your  weakness  and  your  pain — 

Sleep  on  and  take  your  rest. 
I  loved  our  Samuel  and  Ruth, 

But  not  as  I  love  you, 
For  they  were  well,  and  did  not  need 

Both  love  and  pity,  too. 
O,  little  sad  and  tired  face. 

Upon  my  knees  I  pray 
That  He  who  infants  dearly  loves 

Would  take  your  pains  away ; 
Or  else — how  ca7t  I  say  the  words  ? — 

From  heaven  come  marching  down 
And  take  you  up  to  be  with  Him, 

And  wear  a  martyr's  crown. 
Yes,  there  are  infant  martyrs  there. 

And  with  the  eye  of  faith 
I  see  them  smiling  at  the  words 

The  loving  Master  saith. 
So,  little  pilgrim,  sigh  no  more. 

Your  pangs  in  patience  bear ; 
Your  path  is  rough  and  flinty  here — 

'Twill  be  all  glory  there  !  " 

baby's  second  LETTER  TO  PAPA. 

My  Dear  Papa  :  I  am  a  year  old  to-day.     Do  you 
remember  that  ?     I  have  had  ever  so  many  presents. 


BABY'S  SECOND  LETTER  TO  PAPA.    319 

The  one  I  like  best  is  a  great  black  dog.  I  smiled 
when  he  put  his  cold  nose  up  to  my  face.  Then  I 
heard  somebody  burst  out  crying,  and  I  was  fright- 
ened, and  thought  I  had  done  something  naughty 
But  everybody  kissed  me,  and  said  it  was  such  a  re- 
lief to  see  a  smile  on  my  poor  little  sad  face.  So  then 
I  smiled  again,  and  there  was  more  cr>^ing  and  kissing. 
I  watch  the  other  baby  running  about — he  isn't  a 
baby,  but  a  great  boy — and  begin  to  think  I  should 
like  to  run  about  too.  I  did  pull  hold  of  the  leg  of 
the  table  and  get  up  onto  my  feet,  but  Kezia  set 
up  such  a  scream  that  I  thought  I  had  done  some- 
thing naughty,  and  so  sat  down  again.  They  all  say 
that  I  do  not  look  like  you,  and  so  must  be  like  my 
own  mamma,  who  must  have  been  lovely.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Woodford  are  very  well  and  very  happy ;  so  is 
Kezia.  She  gets  a  good  night's  sleep  now,  and  the 
color  is  coming  back  into  her  cheeks.  I  send  you 
my  love,  and  am         Your  baby, 

Alice  Neill  Weston. 


XXVIII. 

"  All  this,  and  heaven  too  ?  " 

ruth's  journal. 

KEZIA  seemed  so  restless  after  I  stole  her  baby 
from  her,  that  I  have  lent  her  my  little  Samuel. 
So  now  we  have  put  the  crib  up  into  the  garret  and 
each  goes  to  bed  armed  and  equipped  with  her 
charge.  Meantime  I  have  grown  so  fond  of  baby 
Alice  that  I  don't  know  but  I  love  her  almost  as 
much  as  Kezia  does.  As  for  father,  he  makes  no  dif- 
ference between  the  children.  He  considers  himself 
grandfather  to  both.  Whatever  is  going  to  become 
of  us  all,  if  baby  Alice  is  claimed  by  her  papa,  I  do 
not  dare  to  think.  Sometimes  I  fear  Providence  will 
settle  the  question  by  taking  her  to  Himself.  That 
thought  throws  my  soul  into  a  most  unholy  toss. 

Mrs.  Strong  persuaded  me  to  spend  a  week  or  ten 
days  at  the  parsonage,  baby  and  all.  I  had  a  per- 
fectly delightful  time.  Father  Strong  is  like  a  shock 
of  corn  fully  ripe.  He  has  excellent  health,  and  is  as 
happy  as  the  day  is  long.    I  asked  Mrs.  Strong  if  she 

thought  we  should  ever  have  to  give  up  baby  Alice. 
(323) 


i?  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL,  321 

She  said  Kezia  might  have  to  part  with  her,  but  it 
was  not  likely  I  should.  Then  I  said  it  was  cruel  to 
let  Kezia  take  care  of  it  when  she  was  ailing  and 
troublesome,  and  when  she  had  nursed  her  into 
health  have  the  child  snatched  from  her. 

"  As  to  that,"  says  she,  "  it  is  six  of  one,  and  half 
a  dozen  of  the  other.  I  don't  see  but  you  take  as 
much  care  of  her  as  Kezia  did.  And  don't  you  see 
that  the  Rev.  Frank  Weston's  daughter  is  not  to  be 
brought  up  in  a  kitchen  ?  " 

I  had  not  thought  of  that. 

"  It  was  to  you  he  brought  the  child,"  she  went  on. 
"  But  there  were  two  facts  in  the  programme  :  one  he 
was  ignorant  of,  and  one  he  could  not  foresee.  He 
expected  to  die  and  bequeath  his  child  to  you.  Don't 
you  see  what  a  high  opinion  he  had  of  you  when  he 
selected  you  to  hold  this  sacred  trust?  And  if  he 
had  died,  should  you  have  hesitated  for  one  minute 
to  accept  this  trust  and  all  the  self-sacrifice  it  in- 
volved ? 

"  But  he  did  not  die,  and  what  was  his  embarrass- 
ment to  find  you,  as  he  supposed,  married,  and  with  a 
child  of  your  own  !  Then  Kezia's  extraordinary  affec- 
tion for  the  baby  led  him  to  do  the  next  best  thing  he 
could  do — leave  it  with  her.  It  would  have  been  the 
death  of  it  to  expose  it  to  another  journey.  Of  course 
he  had  to  yield  to  circumstances.  But  if  the  little 
creature  lives,  as  soon  as  she  passes  beyond  babyhood 
she  must  be  in  your  charge,  not  Kezia's." 


322  PEMAQUID. 

"  But  perhaps  her  papa  will  marry  again.  In  that 
case  he  might  not  need  Alice." 

"  My  dear,  he  will  need  her.  And  don't  you  see 
the  simple,  natural  way  to  solve  this  problem — how 
Frank  can  reclaim  his  child  and  yet  not  take  her  from 
you?" 

I  tried  to  think  of  a  way,  but  couldn't.  "  I  advise 
you,  then,"  she  said,  "  gradually  to  attach  Kezia  to  lit- 
tle Samuel  and  attach  Alice  to  yourself.  Do  it  very 
gradually,  so  that  she  will  not  perceive  it." 

"  But  Samuel  should  not  be  brought  up  in  the 
kitchen  any  more  than  Alice,"  I  said,  quite  puzzled. 

"  Why,  it  will  be  the  old  story  over  again.  Kezia 
was  all  the  mother  you  and  your  brother  had  till  you 
went  to  your  grandma's,  and  he  was  sent  to  school. 
Don't  look  so  puzzled,  dear  child.  I  should  not  have 
spoken  a  word,  but  that  Providence  has  already 
spoken  first.  You  love  baby  Alice,  for  aught  I  see, 
just  as  well  as  you  do  little  Samuel,  perhaps  better, 
for  *  the  bird  that  we  nurse  is  the  bird  that  we  love.'  " 

I  said  I  began  to  love  her  most  tenderly  the  night 
I  took  her  to  sleep  with  me. 

"  Well,  now,  you  and  Kezia  had  both  better  leave 
off  saying  mine  and  thine.  Love  the  two  children 
together,  just  as  a  father  and  mother  do  theirs." 

Well,  I  forgot  all  this  talk  in  a  great  surprise  that 
met  me  when  I  reached  home.  Mother  had  packed 
me  off  to  the  parsonage  while  she  had  my  room  made 
into  a  sort  of  earthly  paradise.     It  had  been  papered 


KEZIA  GOES  HOME  ON  A   VISIT.       323 

and  painted,  there  was  lovely  new  furniture,  there 
were  pictures  on  the  walls,  and  a  flower-stand  covered 
with .  beautiful  plants,  all  in  bloom.  There  is  not 
another  room  in  Pemaquid  to  be  compared  with  it. 
And  I  never  dreamed  that  mother  had  such  exquisite 
taste.  How  disagreeable  it  must  have  been  to  her  to 
live  so  many  years  among  our  homely  old  furniture  ! 
Oh,  and  there  was  a  beautiful  bird  in  a  cage,  singing 
away  like  one  without  a  care,  and  a  great  globe,  full  of 
goldfish,  that  went  darting  about  like  little  flashes  of 
lightning — and  to  think  that  it  was  another  who  had 
all  this  done,  while  she  left  her  own  room  as  bleak 
and  bare  as  ever! 

I  could  hardly  stand  it.  Why  should  I,  of  all 
creatures  in  the  world,  be  so  loved  and  cared  for? 

Well,  I  know  what  I  shall  do  ;  I  shall  just  pack  fa- 
ther and  mother  off  on  a  journey,  and  turn  their 
room  into  fairy-land ! 


KEZIA   GOES   HOME  ON  A  VISIT. 

"  You  see,  mother,  Mis'  Woodford  says  to  me, 
'  Kezia,'  says  she,  *  you  go  home  and  make  your 
mother  a  visit.'  Well,  I  knowed  I  couldn't  take  my 
baby  with  me,  though  I  wanted  you  to  see  it  dread- 
ful. So  says  I,  '  Mother  used  to  be  awful  fond  of  our 
Samuel,  and  she'd  be  proper  glad  to  see  his  little 
young  son,  who's  his  pa's  livin'  image.' 

"  Well,  Mis'  Wocdford  she's  growed  so  agreeable 


324  PEMAQUID. 

that  I  believe  she'd  a  let  me  take  the  Squire  along  if 
I'd  asked  her. 

"  *  Why,  Ruth  is  the  one  to  ask,'  says  she. 

"  Of  course  I  knowed  that  all  along,  but  I  knowed 
she'd  like  to  be  asked  all  the  same. 

"  Well,  now,  aint  this  little  young  'un  jest  a  copy 
of  his  pa?  But  then  you  ought  to  see  ;«jj/ baby ! 
Such  a  poor  little  white  lamb  as  it  is !— only  I'm  all 
the  time  in  a  toss  for  fear  its  pa  will  take  it  away. 
And,  mother,  I  tell  you  what,  I  made  an  idol  of  that 
'ere  child,  and  when  I  found  it  out,  I  fasted  and  prayed, 
and  prayed  and  fasted,  and  was  so  sorry  for  my  sin 
that  I  got  wore  out.  Our  Ruth,  she  thought  I  was 
wore  with  broken  nights,  and  nothin'  would  do  but  she 
must  take  the  screaming  idol  to  sleep  with  her,  so 
that  I  could  rest.  But,  la !  mother,  I  couldn't  rest 
with  sin  on  my  conscience,  so  I  used  to  set  up  on 
end  in  bed  a-pleadin'  with  the  Lord  to  make  up  with 
me  and  give  me  back  my  peace  of  mind.  And  at  last 
He  did.  But  He  said  as  long's  Ruth's  strength  held 
out,  I  had  better  let  her  keep  my  baby  nights,  '  For 
you  can  fast  from  a  baby,'  says  He.  'just  as  you  fast 
from  meat  and  drink,'  says  He.  Do  you  think  there's 
any  harm  in  prayin'  in  bed  this  awful  cold  weather, 
if  you  set  on  end  ?  I  wouldn't  undertake  to  pray 
a-laying  down  any  more  than  I'd  break  a  Command- 
ment a-purpose.  Of  course  I  always  pray  by  the 
side  of  my  bed,  night  and  mornin',  with  nothin'  but 
my  nightgown  on,  no  matter  how  cold  it  is.     That's 


KEZIA  GOES  HOME  ON  A   VISIT.        S25 

mortifying  to  the  flesh,  and  keeps  do^wn  the  body 
wonderful.  I  tell  you  what,  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  my  room  bein'  on  the  north  side  of  the 
house,  it  takes  natur'  and  grace  combined  to  say 
your  prayers,  especially  when  the  snow  beats  down 
the  chimbly  and  catches  you  by  the  feet. 

''  Now,  mother,  you  jest  lop  down  in  your  old  sofy 
and  rest  yourself,  and  I'll  git  dinner.  You  aint  tired  ? 
Well,  I  didn't  suppose  you  was ;  but  I  should  think 
you  might  make  believe,  jest  to  please  me.  Still,  I 
s'pose  you'll  want  to  be  foUerin'  me  round  to  hear  me 
talk.  There !  you  may  grind  the  coffee  if  you  want 
to ;  only  do  it  easy,  so  as  not  to  drown  my  voice. 
You  see  Mis'  Woodford  has  growed  awful  fond  of 
our  Ruth,  and  she  says  to  me  one  day,  says  she,  *  I've 
a  good  mind  to  fit  up  Ruth's  bedroom  beautiful,* 
says  she. 

"  '■  What's  the  use  o'  that  ?  '  says  I.  '  Aint  her  room 
comfortable  ?  '  says  I. 

''  '  I  like  to  see  a  pretty  young  girl  with  pretty 
things  about  her,'  says  she. 

"  '■  But  what's  the  iise  ?  '  says  I. 

"  '  What  is  the  use  of  white  lilies  ?  '  says  she,  *  and 
what's  the  use  of  green  grass? '  says  she. 

"  '  Ask  the  cows,'  says  I. 

"  '-  But  wouldn't  it  taste  just  as  good  if  it  was  as  red 
as  strawberries  or  as  yellow  as  buttercups  ? '  says  she. 
*  But  think  how  our  eyes  would  ache  if  it  were  ! '  says 
she. 


326  PEMAQUID. 

"  '  And  I've  set  my  heart  on  fitting  up  Ruth's  room, 
but  she  must  be  got  out  of  the  way  first.  I'll  ask 
Mrs.  Strong  to  invite  her  to  the  parsonage  for  a 
couple  of  weeks,  and  make  a  fine  •  surprise  for  her/ 
says  she. 

"  So  off  she  goes  to  Bosting  and  buys  all  sorts  of 
things ;  why,  every  time  the  stage  come  in  it  brought 
boxes  and  I  don't  know  what  all,  and  everything  was 
cleared  out  of  Ruth's  room,  and  painters  set  to  work. 
And  it  beats  all  natur'  what  elegant  things  was  put 
into  that  'ere  bedroom.  I  never  see  nothin'  like  it, 
and  you  never  see  nothin'  like  it,  either. 

"  I  kep'  my  eye  on  the  Squire,  a-wonderin'  if  he'd 
think  it  consistent  to  make  such  bowers  of  bliss  in 
this  vale  of  tears,  but  he  never  said  nothin',  but  went 
round  rubbin'  his  hands  and  lookin'  awful  pleased. 
And  I  declare,  when  we  came  to  make  up  the  bed  if 
there  wasn't  two  handsome  George  Rex  blankets 
ready  to  put  on  it,  and  a  white  quilt.  I  don't  think 
I  could  compose  my  mind  to  pray  amongst  such 
finery.  But  our  Ruth  she's  different.  And  when  she 
came  home  she  cried  for  joy.  Only  she  said  every- 
thing was  too  nice,  and  Mis'  Woodford  was  too  kind. 
-  "  ^  Well,'  says  I,  '  if  you  can't  be  happy  in  this 
beautiful  room  you  can't  be  happy  nowhere,'  says  I. 

*' '  Happy  ! '  she  cries.  '  Why,  Kezia  Millet,  I  could 
be  happy  in  a  dungeon  and  wretched  in  a  palace." 

"  And  then  she  went  to  her  bookcase  and  takes 
down  an  old  book,  and  reads  out  this  'ere  : 


KEZIA  GOES  HOME  ON  A   VISIT,       327 

"  '  The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 

Can  make  a  heaven  of  hell,  a  hell  of  heaven.' 

Now  who  can  make  head  or  tail  of  that  'ere.  How 
could  heaven  be  in  hell,  or  what's  more  contrary  to 
natur',  hell  be  in  heaven  ?  '  Well/  says  I,  all  beat 
out,  '  there  aint  nothin'  like  that  'ere  in  the  Bible,  and 
it  does  say  there  that  having  food  and  raiment  we 
oughter  be  content.  And  it  don't  uphold  an  ele- 
gant carpet,  nor  elegant  furniture,  nor  George  Rex 
blankets,  nor  nothin'  of  the  sort,  and  I  mistrust  such 
things  as  making  it  too  agreeable  here  below  for  us, 
pilgrims  and  strangers  as  we  be,  travellers  at  the  very 
best  on't.'  Mis'  Woodford  she  laughed,  and  says  she, 
*  Neither  does  it  say  anything  in  the  Bible  about 
roast  turkeys,  or  mince  pies,  or  cranberry  tarts,  and  a 
host  of  other  things  your  soul  delights  to  set  before 
us.  The  fact  is,  hardly  two  people  agree  about  its 
teachings  on  minor  points.  The  main  thing  is  to 
agree  on  vital  points.  And  I  am  sure  you  and  I 
unite  on  those.  As  to  George  Rex  blankets,  how 
could  they  be  in  the  Bible  ?  And  surely  it  is  right  for 
Ruth  to  sleep  warm.' 

"  So  she  went  on  argufyin'  like  a  lawyer,  which  she 
had  ought  to  ha'  been,  and  though  Satan  can  quote 
Scripter,  I  never  can  at  the  right  minnit. 

'' '  The  fact  is,'  she  went  on,  '  you  are  a  Papist  at 
heart,  and  I  wonder  you  do  not  wear  haircloth  next 
your  skin.'  To  think  of  your  poor  old  Keziey  being 
called  a  Papist !     But  it  v/as  done  so  good-natured 


328  PEMAQUID. 

and  kind  like  I  didn't  feel  riled  at  all,  only  struck  up 
so  that  I  couldn't  speak  if  I  was  to  suffer. 

"  '  You  Pemaquiders,'  says  she,  '  are  all  alike  in  one 
respect.  You  think  God  hates  beautiful  things  and 
beautiful  employments.  But  who  is  there  in  all  the 
universe  that  has  made  such  myriads  of  exquisite 
things  as  He  has?  And  do  you  suppose  He  is  dis- 
pleased when  we  admire  the  works  of  His  hand? 
Look  at  these  flowers !  Look  at  this  bird  and  listen 
to  his  wonderful  voice  !  Look  at  these  goldfish ! 
Was  it  by  accident  that  they  were  formed  in  beauty  ? 
Oh,  you  don't  know  what  a  new  world  I  live  in  since 
I  began  to  love  Him.'  And  the  tears  come  rollin' 
down  her  cheeks.  There,  mother,  you've  no  call  to 
go  to  crying.  I  wouldn't  cry  as  easy  as  you  do  for 
anything. 

"  So  Mis'  Woodford  she  went  on,  and  says  she,  '  I 
have  done  so  much  to  make  Ruth  unhappy  that  I 
can't  do  enough  to  please  and  console  her  now,'  says 
she.  There,  I've  got  everj-'thing  on  to  bile,  and  we'll 
have  a  biled  dinner,  and  now  I  guess  I'll  put  Samuel 
onto  the  sled  and  haul  him  over  to  see  the  neighbors. 
At  any  rate,  I'll  give  him  a  ride.  Oh,  no,  I'll  set  the 
table  fust. 

"  And  so  you  think  there  aint  no  harm  in  prayin' 
irregular,  settin'  on  end,  's  long's  I  pray  regular  on 
my  knees?  And  you  don't  see  no  harm  in  our  Ruth's 
having  an  earthly  paradise  in  her  bedroom  ? 


KEZIA  GOES  HOME  ON  A   VISIT.        329 

"  Well,  I'm  awful  glad,  for  our  Ruth  aint  one  of 
the  kind  to  have  her  head  turned  easy : 

"  But  Satan  this  he  knoweth  not, 
And  he  has  cHmbed  to  yonder  spot, 
And,  hke  a  spider  in  her  hole. 
He's  watchin'  careful  for  her  soul. 
Ah  ha  !  ah  ha  !  ah  ha  !  quoth  he, 
I  to  Ruth  Woodford  have  the  key ; 
She'll  love  her  new  possessions  so 
That  tight  she'll  cleave  to  things  below  : 
Short  prayers  she'll  by  her  bedside  make, 
In  place  of  those  that  made  me  quake ; 
Her  Bible  and  her  hymn-book,  they 
Will  by  degrees  be  tossed  away. 
No  tears  of  penitence  she'll  shed. 
But  she  will  feed  her  bird  instead  ; 
Yes,  all  she'll  know  of  saintly  showers 
Will  be  to  splash  them  on  her  flowers  ! 
Well,  Mr.  Satan,  have  you  done  } 
Is  this  poor  stuff  the  web  you've  spun  ? 
Ha,  ha  !     It's  now  my  turn  to  laugh  ! 
You  think  you  know  too  much  by  half. 
Do  you  suppose  a  girl  that  had 
An  offer  from  a  likely  lad, 
And  give  to  him  a  love  more  true 
Than  the  contempt  I  feel  for  you, 
And  yet  consistent  could  remain 
When  crawlin',  creepin',  in  you  came. 
And  tried  to  wean  her  heart  from  heaven — 
And  futhermore,  when  seven  times  seven, 
A  furnace  was  lit  up,  and  she 
Flung  in,  its  greedy  food  to  be, 
And  she  could  instantly  begin 
To  kiss  the  hand  that  throwed  her  in — 


330  PEMAQUID. 

Did  you  suppose  your  chance  was  bright 
To  catch  her  then  and  hold  her  tight  ? 
Weepin'  endured  a  night,  and  then 
The  mornin'  came  with  joy  again  ; 
Yes,  all  her  heart  ran  o'er  with  joy, 
A-claspin'  oflier  baby  boy. 
But  prayed  she  less  for  love  of  him  ? 
Did  her  strong  faith  grow  dull  and  dim  ? 
O  Satan,  I'm  ashamed  of  you  ! 
After  all  this  to  hope  to  do 
The  maid  a  mischief  with  the  things 
Mis'  Woodford,  her  peace-offerings." 


MRS.  WOODFORD  SEES  MRS.  STRONG. 
"  Was  Ruth  as  much  pleased  as  I  expected  ?  Yes ; 
she  was  delighted.  Kezia  was  a  little  troubled  at 
first.  She  was  afraid  to  see  Ruth  enjoy  herself  lest 
she  should  '  cleave  too  much  to  things  below.*  Nor 
could  she  see  any  use  in  having  birds,  and  flowers, 
and  fishes,  and  pictures.  So  we  laid  our  heads  to- 
gether, Ruth  and  I,  and  agreed  to  send  the  good 
creature  home  for  a  week,  and  take  her  room  in  hand. 
First  we  had  it  painted.  Then  I  went  around  to  the 
neighbors*  garrets,  as  I  had  already  done  for  Ruth, 
and  bought  old  furniture  that  had  stood  idle  and 
useless  for  years,  and  had  it  repaired  and  varnished. 
Then  I  took  twenty  yards  of  new  rag-carpeting  of  old 
Ma'am  Huse,  and  we  put  that  down,  and  last  of  all, 
I  put  in  a  stove.  That  was  Ruth's  idea.  She  said 
baby  Alice  cried  much  less  at  night  when  with  her, 
and  that  it  must  be  because  her  room  was  warm. 


MRS.    WOODFORD  SEES  MRS.  STRONG.  33i 

And  when  I  think  how  much  the  good  old  soul 
prays,  and  what  blessings  she  thereby  brings  into 
this  house,  and  how  many  hours  she  has  spent  in 
midwinter  walking  her  room  with  that  crying  child, 
I  feel  really  hurt  at  my  thoughtlessness  in  not  giving 
her  a  fire  long  ago. 

"  Then  Ruth,  who  is  ingenious  and  handy  about 
such  things,  made  bright,  Avarm  curtains,  had  a  book- 
shelf put  up,  and  arrayed  books  on  it,  and  made  a 
pretty  little  table-cover,  and  last  of  all,  hung  on  the 
walls  some  colored  prints  of  Scriptural  scenes — which 
she  used  to  think  perfectly  splendid,  till  I  taught  her 
better — and  a  cosier,  sweeter  room  none  need  desire. 
So  when  the  stage  drove  up,  Ruth  and  I  were  sitting 
in  it  with  our  work  and  the  baty.  Kezia  rushed  in 
and  sought  us  all  over  the  house. 

''At  last  the  baby  set  up  one  of  her  shrieks,  and 
that  drew  the  good  creature  into  the  room.  At  first 
she  was  so  wild  with  joy  at  getting  home,  that  she 
did  not  notice  anything ;  when  she  did,  she  fell  back 
into  the  nearest  chair,  and  burst  out  crying  in  such  a 
tempest  that  poor  little  bewildered  Samuel  began  to 
cry  too. 

'' '  Well,'  she  said  at  last,  '  I'm  clean  beat  out  !  Me 
have  a  fire  to  say  my  prayers  by  ?  Me  have  hand- 
some curtings  ?  Me  have  elegant  Prodigal  Sons,  and 
prayin'  Samuels,  and  good  old  Elijahs  a-hangin'  round 
my  room  ?  Why,  I  sha'n't  never  want  to  go  to  heaven. 
When  I  git  my  invitation,  I  shall  hang  back  and  say 


332  PEMAQUID, 

Fve  got  so  much  to  live  for.  Well,  if  you  pamper  me 
up  this  way,  some  awful  thing  will  happen  to  keep  me 
down.  For  I  have  to  be  kep'  down  dreadful.  The 
baby,  she'll  die.  Or  her  pa  will  carry  her  off.  Or 
our  Ruth,  she'll  '^get  married.  If  it  aint  one  thing, 
it'll  be  another.  Well,  I'll  fast  entire  once  a  week, 
and  I'll  fast  partial  once  a  week,  and  may  be  I  can 
keep  this  'ere  beautiful  room  and  my  peace  o'  mind 
too.'  " 

"And  then  I  suppose  she  fell  to  singing  ?  " 
"  Yes,  but  Ruth  forgot  to  write  it  down.    And  now 
don't  you  think  I  am  a  happy  woman  ?' 


XXIX. 

'L'absence  diminue  les  petites  amours  et  augmente  les  grandes 
passions,  comme  le  vent  qui  eteint  les  bougies  et  qui  rallume 
le  feu  ! " 

ruth's  journal. 

T  THOUGHT  I  knew  what  trouble  meant.  I 
•*-  thought  my  heart  had  been  broken  all  to  pieces — 
yes,  into  such  little  pieces  that  it  never  could  be  put 
together  and  be  the  same  heart  again.  It  only 
shows  how  little  I  knew. 

Baby  Alice  was  now  two  years  old,  and  was  run- 
ning about,  and  growing  a  little  stronger.  Somehow 
Kezia  and  I  were  more  taken  up  with  her  than  with 
Samuel ;  for  he  was  a  great,  strong,  hearty  boy,  getting 
into  all  sorts  of  mischief,  and  wonderfully  able  to 
take  care  of  himself.  He  never  wanted  to  be  held  in 
our  laps  and  told  stories,  or  to  hear  Kezia  sing.  All 
he  wanted  was  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  and  to  get 
out-of-doors  and  race  and  tear  and  climb,  and  go 
scampering  into  the  neighbors'  houses,  and  hear  and 
see  everything  that  was  going  on  in  Pemaquid. 
Everybody  knew  him,  and  everybody  liked  him ;  and 
he  knew  everybody  and  liked  everybody.     But  Alice 

was  made  to  be  petted.     She  would  sit  by  the  hour 

(333) 


334  P EM  A  QUID. 

hearing  Kezia  sing.  She  would  sit  by  the  hour  in 
my  lap,  wanting  nothing  but  love  for  her  pastime.  It 
was  not  everybody  who  loved  her.  Many  people 
thought  of  her  as  nothing  but  a  puny,  uninteresting 
child.  But  old  Father  Strong  always  said  from  the 
very  beginning  that  she  was  not  made  of  common 
clay. 

Well  —  well  —  dearie  me,  have  I  got  to  write  it 
down  ? 

It  was  a  day  in  July,  and  I  went  down  into  the 
orchard  with  both  the  children.  Mother  and  Kezia 
had  gone  to  the  female  prayer-meeting,  and  father 
was  at  the  office.  I  sat  down  under  a  tree,  cuddling 
Alice  up  to  my  heart,  and  feeling  very  peaceful  and 
happy.  Kezia  and  I  had  done  saying  my  baby  and 
thy  baby ;  it  was  our  Samuel  and  our  Alice,  and  we 
both  felt  the  better  for  it. 

Samuel  had  been  skirmishing  round  among  the 
trees,  and  I  had  almost  forgotten  him,  for  though  he  is 
always  getting  into  scrapes,  he  is  always  getting  out 
of  them.  But  now  he  came,  screaming  with  delight, 
astride  on  a  man's  shoulders ;  and  the  man  was 
Frank. 

'My  poor  little  girl,  have  I  frightened  you  so?" 
he  said,  putting  Samuel  down.  I  suppose  I  had 
turned  pale,  for  I  felt  faint.  I  got  over  it  in  a  min- 
ute, and  said,  ''Alice,  darling,  t'his  is  your  papa." 
She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him,  and  he  took  her, 
but  he  looked  at  me. 


ijf^e^ifi)w#^  '^-^-^^  ^' 


"  My  poor  little  girl,  have  I  fng.h.tened  vo\i  so  ^  "  he  i-xx-i  \ 


Samuel  down. 


putting 

Page  334.' 


i?  UTH'S  JO  URNAL.  335 

''  Ruth,"  he  said. 

I  was  silent  and  distressed. 

"  Ruth,"  he  said,  "  I  never  so  much  as  expected 
you  to  look  at  the  Frank  Weston  of  past  times.  He 
was  utterly  unworthy  of  yOu.  It  is  another  man  who 
comes  to  you  now,  with  all  the  boyish  love  and  ad- 
miration of  his  youth,  and  a  new  and  better  affection, 
and  a  more  appreciative  esteem,  than  was  possible  in 
immature  age." 

He  paused,  holding  Alice  close,  but  still  not  look- 
ing at  her. 

''  Have  you  no  eyes  for  your  child  ?  "  I  said  at  last. 
For  the  silence  of  that  July  afternoon  was  awful. 

He  held  her  out  now,  and  there  was  a  gleam  of 
love  and  pride  in  his  eyes  as  he  gazed  at  the  lovely 
little  creature.  And  I  saw  that  this  was  indeed  an- 
other man.  But  it  was  Frank  I  loved  ;  and  I  did  not 
love  this  stranger. 

"  Ruth,"  he  began  again,  "  you  have  never  for- 
given me.  I  should  not  have  expected  forgiveness 
from  any  one  but  you.  But  I  hoped — I  thought  the 
child  had  been  forming  a  new  tie  between  us,  and 
that  you  would  come  and  help  me  in  my  work.  Pvly 
child,  I  was  unfaithful  to  you  for  a  time,  and  undei 
dire  temptation ;  but  only  for  a  time.  You  are  the 
only  human  being  with  whom  I  was  ever  thoroughly 
in  love.  I  had  a  passion  for  Juliet — an  infatuation 
that  passed  for  love  ;  but  it  was  all  a  delusion.  The 
instant  I  saw  her  in  her  true  colors  I  fled  from  her  as 


336  FEMAQUID. 

from  a  demon.  But  I  felt  that  I  had  lost  you  forever. 
And  under  this  conviction,  a  reckless  man,  looking 
for  happiness  no  longer,  but  willing  to  give  it  if  I 
could,  I  married  this  child's  mother.  This  fact  com- 
plicates my  cause,  I  am  well  aware.  But  I  am  not 
afraid  that  He  who  reads  the  human  heart  counts 
that  a  deed  ill  done." 

He  paused,  and  there  was  another  awful  silence. 
If  I  had  only  been  like  Kezia  I  could  have  burst  out 
and  put  an  end  to  it ;  but  I  could  not  speak.  All 
the  old  wounds  I  thought  healed  were  bleeding 
afresh.  I  looked  away  from  him  to  a  sight  I  usually 
delight  to  see — the  men  pitching  the  hay  onto  the 
cart ;  Samuel  gamboling  about,  j\^aiting  to  be  perched 
on  its  top  and  ride  to  the  barn,  wild  with  glee.  But 
the  sight  jarred  now ;  and  the  tears  began  to  stream 
down  like  rain.  He  came  and  tried  to  take  my  hand, 
but  I  drew  it  back  and  shrank  away  from  him.  And 
at  last  I  could  stop  crying  and  speak  calmly. 

"Who  did  you  consult  before  you  came  here?" 
I  asked. 

"God,  and  my  own  heart,"  he  replied. 

"  And  no  woman  ?  " 

"  None." 

**  Then  I  might  have  been  spared  all  this  pain. 
Any  woman  would  have  said  to  you,  'You  must  not 
go!'" 

It  was  now  his  turn  to  be  silent.  There  came  upon 
the  stillness  the  cheerful  voices  of  the  men  at  their 


i?  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  337 

work ;  the  sweet  note  of  a  bird ;  the  harsh,  yet  not 
wholly  unpleasant  cawing  of  passing  cows  ;  best  of 
all,  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  mother  and  Kezia 
driving  in.  Kezia  left  mother  at  the  house,  drove  to 
the  barn,  and  came  strolling  back,  singing  to  herself. 

"  Kezia!  "  I  cried  out. 

She  stopped  singing,  and  with  three  strides  was  at 
my  side. 

"Whatever  have  you  bin  a-sayin'  to  our  Ruth, 
Frank  Weston?  "  she  shrieked  out.  "Air  you  a-goin' 
to  take  away  our  baby,  or  what  is  to  pay  ?  " 

"  Nothing  has  been  said  about  the  baby,"  he  re- 
plied, "  but  I  thank  you,  Kezia,  with  all  my  heart, 
for  the  kind  care  you  have  taken  of  her." 

"  You  thank  me  ?  I  aint  taken  no  more  care  on 
her  than  our  Ruth  has,  nor  loved  her  any  better, 
except  one  spell  when  I  made  a  graven  image  out 
on  her,  which  warn't  of  no  earthly  use  to  her  and 
was  a  dreadful  grief  and  pain  to  me.  But  it's  no  use 
for  you  to  carry  her  off.  Men  aint  no  more  fit  to 
bring  up  babies  than  cats  air.  And  it's  far  healthier 
down  here  to  Pemaquid  than  it  is  where  you  be, 
where  they  say  you  could  cut  the  smoke  with 
knives." 

"  That  is  true,"  he  said,  with  a  great  sigh.  He  was 
looking  so  steadily  at  the  child  that  I  got  up  softly 
and  stole  away. 

Oh,  what  made  him  come  ?     Why  did  God  let  him 

come?     Dear  me — Oh,  dear  me! 
15 


338  PEMAQUID. 


!     FRANK  WESTON  CALLS  ON  MRS.  STRONG. 

"Why,  Frank,  is  this  really  you?  How  you  have 
changed !  I  can  hardly  believe  that  this  is  our  boy 
Frank.  Well,  I  should  know  you  had  been  in  deep 
waters  if  I  had  not  been  told  it.  And  now  you  are 
a  full-grown  man,  every  inch  of  it,  and  the  words 
*  hard  work  *  are  written  all  over  your  face.  You  have 
come  to  see  your  baby,  I  suppose.  Isn't  she  a  sweet 
little  creature?" 

"  I  saw  her  in  the  arms  of  a  sweet  little  creature, 
whom  I  hoped  to  make  her  mother.  But  that  hope 
has  been  dispelled,  and  I  must  go  back  to  my  work 
alone.     And  I  richly  deserve  my  fate." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  been  making 
love  to  Ruth  ?  Oh,  why  didnt  you  consult  me  about 
it  first?  Poor  little  thing!  I  can  fancy  how  you 
have  cut  her  to  the  quick.  How  you  men  do  bungle 
about  your  work.  What  is  the  use  of  women  in  the 
world  if  it  is  not  to  keep  you  all  out  of  hot  water?  " 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  wounding  her.  I  fancied  she 
would  be  proud  to  find  how,  in  the  depths  of  my 
heart,  I  had  been  true  to  her.  And  I  thought  her 
one  of  the  sort  to  love  once  and  love  forever." 

*'  Girls  of  that  sort  only  exist  in  books.  To  have 
kept  on  loving  you  when  she  believed  you  to  be 
Juliet's  husband  would  have  been  both  weak  and 
wicked.'* 


FRANK  WESTON'S  CALL.  339 

"  But  she  turned  so  pale  when  she  saw  me  that  I 
had  Httle  doubt  she  loved  me  still." 

''  That  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  The  sight  of 
you  revived  the  old  pain." 

"  Did  she  suffer  so  very  much,  then  ?  " 

"  She  suffered,  but  silently  and  in  faith  and  patience,  i 
No  one  saw  any  violent  outbreak  of  grief  after  the 
first  day.     And  later  on  there  came  the  peaceable 
fruits  of  her  grief." 

"  But,  oh,  how  she  cried  this  afternoon.  Fancy,  if 
you  can,  how  a  man  feels  when  he  witnesses  such 
anguish  and  knows  he  has  caused  it,  and  is  powerless 
to  do  anything  for  its  relief." 

''  Yes ;  you  set  all  the  old  wounds  bleeding,  no 
doubt.  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  child  and  sorry  for 
you.  Your  love  for  her  slumbered  and  then  awoke 
again.     Her  love  for  you  is  not  asleep,  it  is  dead!' 

"  You  think  there  is  no  hope  for  me,  then  ?  " 

*'  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that.  But  there  will  be 
no  manner  of  use  in  approaching  her  now,  in  any 
character,  much  less  in  that  of  the  Frank  Weston  of 
times  past.  Possibly  her  love  for  your  child  may 
plead  for  you  in  some  distant  future.  At  any  rate, 
never  approach  her  again  without  consulting  Mrs. 
Woodford  or  myself." 

"  I  will  not.  I  see  that  I  have  made  an  almost  fa- 
tal mistake.  And,  after  all,  it  is  not  necessary  that  I 
should  marry  again.  My  people  are  very  kind  to  mc 
and  I  am  happy  in  my  work.     And,  if  it  is  not  pre- 


340  PEMAQUID. 

sumption  to  say  so,  I  know  something  of  what  Christ 
can  be  to  a  lonely  and  desolate  and  abased  soul.  I 
don't  know  but  every  form  of  suffering/^j/j-.  I  think 
I  shall  go  back  to  my  work  more  saddened  and  sober- 
ed by  this  experience,  and  so  better  fitted  to  be  a  son 
of  consolation  to  other  weary  hearts.  For  everybody, 
sooner  or  later,  takes  his  turn." 

"  That  is  true.  But  if  I  were  you  I  would  not  be 
so  much  saddened  by  this  event  as  chastened  by  it. 
There  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world  between  these 
two  results  of  trial.  In  sadness  there  is  a  touch  of 
self-will  and  intention  to  give  way.  But  the  chastened 
soul  has  thrown  self-will  overboard,  and  while  it  suf- 
fers it  is  patient,  it  is  courageous,  it  knows  depths  of 
sweetness  in  the  midst  of  its  pain.  For  it  gets  '  drops 
of  honey  out  of  the  Rock  Christ.'  " 

"  It  does  indeed,  it  docs  indeed.  I  would  not 
change  my  lot  for  that  of  any  man  on  earth,  however 
prospered.  What  internal  evidence  we  have  of  the 
fundamental  truths  of  Christianity,  when  our  hearts 
faint  for  heaviness  and  we  are  held  up  by  an  unseen 
Power,  as  evident  to  our  consciousness  as  if  it  were  a 
thing  to  be  seen  or  touched.  As  I  walked  my  lonely 
room  last  night,  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true  that  I 
knew  Christ  and  could  preach  Him.  I  shudder  when 
I  think  of  my  giddy  boyhood  and  youth,  and  the 
danger  I  ran  of  making  shipwreck  of  my  faith.  But 
now,  Mrs.  Strong,  about  my  precious  little  Alice. 
What  ought  I  to  do  ?     Take  her  away  ?     You  know 


FRANK  WESTON'S  CALL.     '  341 

how  I  love  children,  how  delightful  it  would  be  tc 
hear  the  sound  of  little  feet  in  my  study  once  more." 

"  If  you  take  her  away  now,  I  have  not  the  small- 
est doubt  you  will  lose  her.  But  for  the  love  and 
prayers  of  those  devoted  creatures,  Ruth  and  Kezia, 
she  never  could  have  lived  as  long  as  she  has  done. 
And  it  would  be  an  ill  moment  for  Ruth  to  have  to 
part  with  the  beloved  little  one ;  besides,  your  only 
faint  chance  of  winning  Ruth  will  be  through  the 
child.  Don't  you  see  that  the  moment  you  remove 
it  you  lose  all  opportunity  of  communication  with 
her?" 

'^  Yes,  so  I  do.  But  how  am  I  to  have  news  of  my 
child  ?  Is  it  likely  that  Ruth  will  be  willing  to  write 
me  any  more  letters  in  the  baby's  name?  " 

"  Let  me  think  a  minute.  Did  she  ever  allude  to 
herself  in  those  letters  ?  " 

"  Never.  That  was,  to  me,  a  hopeful  sign.  I 
thought  if  she  were  entirely  indifferent  to  me  all  shy- 
ness would  disappear,  and  she  would  write  mere  busi- 
ness letters  about  little  Alice  with  perfect  freedom. 
But  you  women  understand  such  things  better  than 
we  men  do." 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  Ruth  should  not  go  on  issu- 
ing her  bulletins  the  same  as  ever,  so  long  as  this 
does  not  oblige  her  to  put  herself  forward  in  the 
least.  She  has  an  unusual  amount  of  the  rarest  kind 
of  sense  in  the  world — connnon  sense  ;  she  is  not 
proud  or  vindictive.     By  this  time  she  is  accusing 


342  PEMAQUID. 

herself  of  selfishness  in  letting  you  see  how  she  had 
suffered,  and  she  will  be  glad,  since  she  can  do  no 
more  for  you,  to  render  you  this  little  service." 

"  I  want  to  see  my  child  once  more  before  I  go  ; 
can  it  be  managed  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Kezia  will  bring  her  here  or  take  her 
to  the  tavern,  just  as  you  like." 

*'  Oh,  there  is  another  thing.  Ruth  must  have 
talked  a  great  deal  about  me,  for  Alice  came  to  me 
the  moment  she  heard  who  I  was." 

^'And  why  Ruth,  pray?  Why  not  Kezia?  Be- 
sides, Alice  is  very  confiding.  She  always  would  go  to 
any  one  who  looked  kindly  at  her.  No,  young  man, 
your  name  has  never  passed  Ruth's  lips  since  the  day 
she  received  your  cruel  letter.  She  forbade  all  of  us 
ever  speaking  it  in  her  hearing.  She  loves  your  child 
for  its  own  sake,  not  yours.  And  as  to  the  letters 
about  her,  it  cost  her  a  great  effort  to  begin  to  write 
them ;  but  after  awhile,  I  doubt  not,  she  ceased  to 
connect  herself  with  them  at  all ;  it  was  pure  com- 
munication, to  her  mind,  between  father  and  child. 
If  I  were  perfectly  sure  you  were  worthy  of  Ruth  I 
might  be  tempted,  perhaps,  to  speak  a  good  word  for 
you." 

"  Let  me  assure  you,  then,  that  I  am  not  worthy 
of  her.  I  am  utterly  unworthy.  I  do  not  know 
where  I  ever  got  the  assurance  to  come  to  see  her. 
But  some  of  the  letters  she  wrote  in  my  baby's  name 
— na)^,  in  fact  all  of  them — gave  me  the  idea  that  they 


FRANK  WESTON'S  CALL.  843 

were  written  by  one  whose  heart  was  at  rest,  and  I 
thought,  I  hoped,  she  knew  how  precious  those  let- 
ters were.  Why,  when  I  first  saw  her,  sitting  in  the 
orchard,  my  eye  overlooked  my  own  child  ;  I  seemed 
to  be  a  boy  again,  and  she  the  little  wild  rose  I  knew 
and  loved.  But  I  deserve  all  the  pain  I  am  suffering 
and  shall  suffer." 

"There's  Kezia,  now,  with  the  baby.  I'll  call 
her  in." 

"  La,  now,  Frank  Weston,  be  you  to  Pemaquid 
still  ?  We  thought  you'd  gone.  Well,  I'm  dreadful 
glad  you  aint  gone,  for  I  was  left  to  say  things  to  you 
yesterday  afternoon  that  I  was  ashamed  of  when  I 
come  to  say  my  prayers.  Anyhow  my  bark's  wuss'n 
my  bite,  and  I  was  riled  when  I  see  our  Ruth's  face 
all  swelled  up  with  cryin',  and  you  that  oughter  been 
strung  up  as  high  as  Haman,  a-settin'  there  lookin' 
like  a  pictur'  (ye'r  handsome,  I  will  allow),  and  dress- 
ed up  as  if  you'd  jest  come  out  of  a  bandbox.  And 
if  I  expressed  my  mind  too  free,  you  must  excuse  my 
ways ;  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  flea  a-purpose,  much  less  this 
ownty  downty  precious  lamb  its  pa. 

"  La,  I've  sung  to  her  about  you  till  she  could  ha* 
picked  you  out  among  a  hundred  pa's.  Not  for  your 
virtue's  sake,  but  to  warn  her  ag'inst  follerin'  in  your 
ways.  Not  to  say  that  your  ways  aint  improved,  for 
I  see  by  your  face  they  air.  And  our  Ruth  and  me, 
we'll  bring  her  up  in  the  fear  and  admonition  of 
the  Lord.     She  shall  be  took  to  the  Eternal  Associa- 


8M  PEMAQUID. 

tion  and  learn  her  Catechism  and  her  Primer,  and  see 
John  Rogers  burnt  at  the  stake,  and  Xerxes  a-lyin' 
in  his  coffin,  and  Zebedee  up  in  a  tree  his  Lord  to 
see  ;  Oh,  never  you  fear  but  she  shall  know  all  there  is 
to  know !  And  I  tell  you  what !  You  come  to  see 
her  every  summer,  and  I'll  fetch  her  here,  or  to  the 
tavern,  or  wherever  you  say,  only  don't  you  never 
come  a-poaching  after  our  Ruth  no  more. 

"  This  'ere  baby  favors  its  ma,  don't  it  ?  Anyhow, 
she  aint  a  grain  like  you.  Aint  she  a  little  pictur'  ? 
And  the  Squire  thinks  he's  her  grandpa,  and  nobody 
can  persuade  him  he  aint.  And  we  jest  take  the 
money  you  send  us  for  her  and  heave  it  into  the  con- 
tribution-box ! 

*^  Well,  if  you've  done  eatin'  of  her  up,  I'll  be  goin' 
with  what's  left  of  her.  Good-by,  Frank.  Good-by, 
Mis'  Strong.  Kiss  your  pa,  lambkin ;  you  won't  see 
him  ag'in  for  a  whole  year." 


XXX. 

"  Meeting  thus  upon  the  threshold  going  out  and  coming  in  : 
Going  out  unto  the  triumph,  coming  in  unto  the  fight ; 
Coming  in  unto  the  darkness,  going  out  unto  the  light!" 

— Isabella  Craig. 

"The  years  of  old  age  are  stalls  in  the  cathedral  of  life,  in  which 
for  aged  men  to  sit  and  listen,  and  meditate,  and  be  patient 
till  the  service  is  over,  and  in  which  they  may  get  themselves 
ready  to  say  Amen  at  last,  with  all  their  hearts,  and  souls,  and 
strength." — Mountford. 

ruth's  journal. 

TWO  great  events  have  occurred  here  in  Pemaquid 
that  have  given  me  something  to  think  of  besides 
myself. 

I  don't  see  how  God  can  be  so  good  to  me. 

Mrs.  Strong  asked  me  to  come  to  the  parsonage 

and  take  care   of  Father  Strong  while  she  was  laid 

aside.     There  is  not  a  girl  in  the  village  who  would 

not  have  felt  this,  as  I  did,  a  great  honor  and  delight. 

Ministering  to  him  is  somewhat  like  ministering  to 

one  of  the  old  prophets.     I  Vv-ent  right  away,  so  as 

to  learn  all  his  ways,  and  never  did  I  spend  two  more 

delightful    weeks.     He   was    nearing   his    hundredth 

birthday,   and    his    physical  strength  was  well-nigh 
15*  (345) 


346  PEMAQUID. 

gone.  But  his  soul  was  as  strong  as  a  young  man's ; 
yes,  stronger,  and  he  seemed  to  live  in  it  and  to  hold 
constant  communion  with  the  Being  whom  he  had 
loved  and  served  so  long.  And  this  filled  him  with 
such  sweet  charity,  that  though  of  course  I  could  not 
-tend  him  with  Mrs.  Strong  s  skill,  and  sometimes  for- 
got things,  and  blundered  in  others,  he  always  said 
everything  was  just  right,  and  that  he  hadn't  time  to 
form  a  wish  before  it  was  gratified. 

And  at  last  his  birthday  came,  and  he  was  one 
hundred  years  old.  And  I  was  privileged  to  carry 
his  dear  little  grandchild  and  place  it  in  his  arms :  for 
there  was  another  birthday  in  the  house,  and  a  life 
beginning  just  as  his  was  going  out.  Tears  of  joy 
rolled  down  his  aged  cheeks,  and  he  blessed  the 
child,  and  then  said,  "  I  thank  Thee,  O  Christ,  for  the 
joy  that  has  come  to  my  sorrow-stricken  children. 
Spare  this  little  one,  and  let  him  grow  up  to  be  a 
preacher  of  righteousness.  And  now  what  wait  I  for 
but  leave  to  go  home  to  be  with  Him  whom  my  soul 
loveth.  Lord,  call  me  home  to-day,  to  be  with  Thee 
in  Paradise." 

I  stood  awe-struck  by  his  side  a  moment,  and  then 
took  the  baby  back  to  his  mother.  Father  Strong 
v/elcomed  me  with  a  smile  as  I  returned  to  him,  and 
asked  me  to  turn  him  upon  his  side  ;  I  did  so,  and  he 
put  his  hand  under  his  cheek,  looking  as  peaceful  as 
a  child. 

I  leaned  over  him  and  asked  him  how  he  felt. 


R  UTH'S  JO  URNAL.  347 

'■''Delightfully!''  he  said,  and  fell  into  a  gentle 
sleep. 

Mr.  Strong  came  in  repeatedly  during  the  day,  but 
there  was  not  another  movement,  and  just  as  the  sun 
was  setting  he  drew  his  last,  painless  breath. 

All  v/e  had  asked  was  that  he  might  live  to  his 
hundredth  birthday,  and  to  bless  the  child.  It  was 
not  a  death  to  mourn  over;  it  was  one  to  remember 
with  sacred  and  solemn  joy. 

And  the  little  life  that  had  just  begun,  how  it 
claimed  us  all ;  how  happily  it  broke  in  upon  the 
household  so  long  written  childless  ! 

Father  Strong's  funeral  was  something  quite  won- 
derful. Ministers  came  from  all  over  the  State,  and 
everybody  in  Pemaquid  who  was  not  detained  by 
sickness  or  the  care  of  little  children  was  there.  The 
men  even  left  their  haying  and  every  sort  of  work  to 
pay  respect  to  the  oldest  and  best  man  they  had  ever 
known  or  were  ever  likely  to  know. 

Alice  is  three  years  old  to-day.  And  her  papa  has 
been  to  see  her.  He  wrote  to  ask  Kezia  to  bring  her 
to  the  parsonage  to  see  him,  and  did  not  come  here 
at  all,  of  which  I  was  very  glad.  And  yet  I  saw  him, 
and  heard  him  preach  a  wonderful  sermon  for  a 
young  man.  Of  course  I  should  not  have  gone  to 
meeting  if  I  had  known  he  was  going  to  preach. 
They  all  knew  it,  but  took  care  not  to  tell  me.  Am 
I  glad  or  sorry  that  I  heard  that  sermon  ?     I  think  I 


34S  PEMAQUID. 

must  be  sorry,  for  there  is  a  lump  in  my  throat  now. 
And  yet,  it  is  a  comfort  to  see  that  the  love  I  once 
felt  for  him  was  not  wasted  on  a  nobody ;  was  not 
the  idle  fancy  of  a  little  country  girl. 

He  must  be  very  much  displeased  with  me  not  to 
so  much  as  call ! 

However,  he  may  be  engaged  to  some  other  girl, 
and  so  have  forgotten  all  about  me.  In  that  case  he 
will  be  taking  Alice  away  from  us.  The  thought  is 
terrible. 

There  are  plenty  of  girls  in  love  with  him,  I  do  not 
doubt — that  is,  if  he  often  preaches  such  wonderful 
sermons.  It  sounded  like  Baxter  and  Owen  and 
other  old  writers  grandma  taught  me  to  love.  Grand- 
ma would  "^-d^^  feasted  on  such  preaching. 

And  to  think  he  did  not  even  call !  But  I  am  glad 
he  did  not. 

And  I  am  glad  that  I  have  kept  writing  to  him 
about  Alice.  He  is  not  the  sort  of  man  to  be  ham- 
pered with  a  girl's  whims.  And  my  reluctance  to 
write  to  him  about  Alice  was  a  whim. 

I  think  I  shall  have  to  spend  a  day  of  fasting  and 
prayer.  My  head  runs  upon  Juliet  in  a  most  un- 
seemly way.  And  I  have  no  right  to  look  at  second 
causes.  It  was  God  who  separated  me  from  what  I 
loved  too  much,  and  it  is  He  who  has  poured  so 
much  sweetness  into  my  cup  that  I  have  often  felt 
too  happ}^  to  live. 

Still  he  might  have  just  called. 


i?  UTH  'S  JO  URNAL.  349 

And  now  here  comes  Kezia.  I  have  kept  out  of 
her  way  hitherto,  but  now  I  am  in  for  it. 

"  Well/  Ruth  Woodford,  did  you  ever  in  all  your 
Varsal  Hfe  hear  such  preachin'  ?  Why,  it's  laid  me 
flat  as  a  pan- cake.  I  don't  feel  no  bigger'n  a  flea. 
All  Pemaquid  is  afire  about  it  !  And  you  ought  to 
ha'  seen  how  awful  fond  he  is  of  Alice.  And  how  she 
went  on  about  you !  It  was  Ruth  this  and  Ruth 
that ;  but  he  never  said  a  word  to  encourage  her. 

"  He  don't  look  very  rugged,  and  it  wouldn't  take 
much  to  upset  him.  What  makes  you  so  silent,  child  ? 
Why  don't  you  say  nothin'  about  that  'ere  sermon? 
'Taint  possible  you  haint  forgiv'  Frank  for  the  visit 
he  made  you  a  year  ago  ?  Well,  you  needn't  be  a 
mite  afraid  he'll  ever  try  to  see  you  ag'in*,  he's  as 
good  as  promised  me  he  never  will.  You  think  he 
might  have  called  here  ?  Where  would  ha'  been  the 
good  of  that  ?  You  could  like  him  as  a  friend  ? 
Pshaw !  it's  no  such  thing.  When  a  young  man 
makes  a  friend  of  a  girl  it  means  he's  going  to  court 
her.  And  when  a  girl  wants  to  make  a  friend  of  a 
young  man  it  means  that  she's  a-throwin'  dust  in  her 
own  eyes.  And  men  may  preach  beautiful,  and  pray 
beautiful,  but  it  don't  foller  that  they'll  make  good 
husbands.  In  fact,  it's  often  just  the  contrary.  Frank 
Weston's  throwed  you  overboard,  and  then  you've 
had  your  turn  and  throwed  him  overboard,  and  kep' 
his  little  lambkin  besides." 


350  PEMAQUID. 

Pemaquid  has  grown  so  fast  that  the  meeting-house 
has  been  enlarged  twice,  and  now  a  new  one  is  to  be 
built  immediately.  And  ours  is  one  of  the  families 
appointed  to  leave  our  dear  old  church  and  become  a 
part  of  the  new  one.  It  has  been  a  great  blow  to  us 
all.  It  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  love  a  new  min- 
ister as  we  do  Mr.  Strong.  Kezia  has  cried  about  it 
till  the  tears  have  worn  two  lines  down  her  cheeks, 
where  the  skin  is  off,  and  I  can't  deny  that  I  have 
cried  too.  One  has  need  of  patience  in  this  chang- 
ing, evil  world.  But  grandma's  lessons  are  ever  re- 
peating themselves  in  my  ears.  She  could  not  en- 
dure faint-heartedness,  and  I  will  not  give  way  now, 
though  many  things  conspire  to  try  my  courage. 

When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  used  to  take  it  for  granted 
that  I  should  have  children  and  grandchildren  of  my 
own.  I  see  now  that  I  never  shall.  But  I  have  my 
dear  young  rogue  Samuel,  whom  God  only  can  take 
from  me,  and  I  have,  for  a  season,  this  little  miracle 
of  sweetness,  our  precious  Alice.  But  we  may  have 
to  part  with  her  any  day.  Well,  one's  life  doth  not 
consist  in  the  abundance  of  what  one  hath.  What  a 
blessed,  beautiful  truth  that  is ! 

FRANK  WESTON   TO   REV.   MR.    STRONG. 

Dear  Mr.  Strong:  You  will  excuse  my  troubling 
you  with  my  affairs,  when  I  tell  you  that  my  health 
has  broken  down  again.  I  made  a  mistake  in  under- 
taking such  severe  and  varied   labor  as  this  large. 


MI^S.  STRONG  SEA^nS  FOR  RUTH.      351 

growing  church  requires.  My  physicians  insist  on 
entire  rest  for  six  months  at  least.  I  am  to  try  a  sea- 
voyage  during  a  large  part  of  that  period.  Of  course 
this  is  a  heavy  trial,  and  I  am  tempted  to  envy  the 
ass  and  her  colt,  of  whom  it  was  said,  ''  The  Lord 
hath  need  of  them."  But  though  perplexed,  I  am 
not  in  despair.  I  believe  the  Master  has  yet  some- 
thing for  me  to  do.  So  if  you  hear  of  any  vacant 
New  England  pulpit,  six  months  hence,  I  beg  you 
will  bear  me  in  mind.  I  have  learned  to  cease  from 
picking  and  choosing  how,  when,  or  where  I  shall 
pitch  my  tent,  content  that  each  day  brings  me  a 
day's  march  nearer  home.  Not  that  I  have  any  mor- 
bid desire  to  die  young.  Only  there  shoots  athwart 
my  soul  at  times  the  blissful  thought  of  becoming 
like  Christ,  in  seeing  Him  as  He  is. 

Remember  me  most  kindly  to  Mrs.  Strong,  kiss  the 
baby  for  me,  and  believe  me 

Affectionately  and  gratefully  yours, 

.  Frank  Weston 

i 

MRS.  STRONG  SENDS  FOR  RUTH. 

"  My  dear  child,  here  is  a  letter  from  Frank  that 
troubles  me.  He  has  broken  down  in  the  midst  of 
his  brilliant  career,  and  has  had  to  abandon  his  im- 
portant field  of  usefulness,  never  to  resume  it." 

"  But,  dear  Mrs.  Strong,  there  is  nothing  I  can  do 
about  it.  I  am  very  sorry  for  him,  but  there  is  noth- 
ing I  can  do." 


352  PEMAQUID. 

"  We  shall  see.  In  six  months  the  new  meeting- 
house will  be  done,  and  Mr.  Strong  says  that  if  at 
that  time  Frank  is  in  working  order,  he  shall  recom- 
mend the  new  church  to  call  him  to  be  its  pastor. 
Now  could  anything  be  more  delightful  ?  I  always 
have  loved  him  for  his  own  sake  and  for  his  love  to 
my  children,  and  this  climate  agreed  with  him  per- 
fectly. And  Alice  will  be  far  better  off  here  in  our 
pure  air  than  in  a  great  smoky  city.  Dear  heart,  how 
your  cheeks  burn !  But  you  would  have  to  hear  all 
this  sooner  or  later,  and  I  wanted  the  pleasure  of  tell- 
ing you  myself.  Think  now ;  your  father  and  mother 
and  Kezia  won't  have  to  give  you  up,  and  you  will 
not  have  to  part  with  Samuel  or  with  Alice.  Yes,  it 
is  going  to  be  delightful  all  round.  You  are  not  so 
sure  of  that  ?     We  shall  see." 


XXXI. 

FRANK  WESTON  TO  MRS.  STRONG. 

DEAR  MRS.  STRONG  :  I  have  received  your  very 
kind  letter,  with  its  seal  of  "  Do  come,"  and  am 
most  grateful  for  it.  It  has  pleased  God  to  restore 
me  to  health,  but  my  physicians  still  agree  that  I 
must  renounce  the  excitement  and  fatigue  of  city 
life  and  spend  the  rest  of  my  days  in  some  rural  re- 
treat, where  I  can  have  plenty  of  air  and  exercise. 
The  call  to  Pemaquid,  if  accepted,  would  fulfill  all 
these  conditions.  And  I  hardly  need  tell  you  that 
my  heart  leaped  up  at  the  thought  of  living  once 
more  near  Mr.  Strong  and  yourself,  not  to  speak  of 
other  friends.  But  my  doing  so  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. I  can  not  trust  myself.  And  I  have  other  calls 
equally  pressing  from  New  England  parishes,  between 
which  I  must  soon  decide. 

I  have  a  friend,  a  noble  fellow,  whom  I  think  just 
the  man  for  Pemaquid — a  man  superior  to  myself  in 
every  way.  It  costs  me  an  effort,  however,  to  say 
this,  and  I  have  had  a  tussle  with  both  myself  and 

the  devil  before  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to  do  it. 

(353) 


354  PEMAQUID. 

For  If  Henry  Althorpe  is  heart-free,  and  if  he  goes 
to  Pemaquid  and  becomes  Ruth's  pastor,  he  will  be- 
come her  husband ;  of  that  I  am  sure.  And  I  am 
mean  enough,  and  enough  of  a  dog  in  the  manger,  to 
want  to  stand  in  his  light  if  I  can.  Dear  Mrs.  Strong, 
you  are  like  a  beloved  elder  sister  to  me,  and  I  have 
no  one  else  to  whom  I  can  speak  on  this  sore  subject. 
But  I  do  not  intend  to  be  nothing  but  a  love-sick  fel- 
low, making  the  most  of  my  discomfort.  With  God's 
help  I  am  going  to  be  a  brave,  cheerful  man — yes, 
and  a  happy  one,  too  ;  for,  after  all,  the  human  soul 
was  formed  for  Him,  and  He  can  satisfy  it.  I  long  to 
get  to  work  again. 

Faithfully  yours, 

Frank  Weston. 

P.  S. — This  mail  carries  my  partial  acceptance  of  a 
call  to  South  Greenville. 

kezia's  opinion. 
'■'■  Well,  now.  Mis'  Strong,  you  might  knock  me 
down  with  a  straw  !  As  true's  my  name  is  Kezia 
Millet  I  thought  Frank  Weston  was  as  good  as  settled 
in  our  new  church,  and  our  Ruth  as  good  as  married 
to  him.  Says  I  to  Mis'  Woodford,  says  I,  '  Every- 
thing's turned  out  like  a  book,  with  a  weddin'  to  the 
end.'  Not  that  I  ever  see  any  sense  in  doin'  that.  It 
reminds  me  of  a  story  of  somebody's  meetin'  a  hired 
girl  and  asking  her  where  she  lived  now,  and  her  say- 
ing, *  La  !  I  don't  live  anywhere  now;  I'm  married !  ' 


KEZIA  'S  OPINION.  355 

If  I  was  goln'  to  write  a  book  I'd  put  the  weddin'  on 
the  fust  page. 

"  Well,  I  thought  if  anybody  could  help  me  to  live 
consistent  'twould  be  Frank  Weston.  He  aint  'way 
up  in  the  clouds,  dressed  in  glor^'-,  like  Mr.  Strong ; 
he's  got  lots  of  human  natur'  in  him,  and  can  under- 
stand and  pity  them  as  has  lots  of  it  too.  Oh,  Mis* 
Strong,  the  conflicts  and  temptations  I  have !  Even 
people  like  you  don't  know  anything  about  it.  Why, 
you're  as  even  as  the  hem  of  my  best  apron.  And 
it's  calculated  to  exalt  the  flesh  to  have  an  even  tem- 
per. Not  to  say  that  you're  exalted  ;  I  meant  people 
in  general.  I've  always  took  notice  that  them  as 
could  hold  their  tongues  never  had  no  charity  for 
them  as  couldn't.  They  think  we  fly  out  a-purpose. 
Jest  as  if  people  was  corks  in  yeast  bottles,  and  could 
keep  in  if  they'd  a  mind  to,  and  the  yeast  all  the 
time  workin'  powerful.  Now,  Mis'  Strong,  I  aint  never 
tempted  to  tell  lies,  and  your  nice,  sweet-tempered 
kind  is.  They  don't  go  to  do  it,  but  the  first  thing 
they  know  out  it  flies.  They  are  apt  to  be  kind  of 
cowardly,  and  afraid  of  bein'  found  fault  with,  and  so 
they  tell  stories.  Aint  our  Alice  growed  to  be  a 
beauty  ?  And  with  me  and  Ruth  to  bring  her  up  no- 
body'll  ever  hear  her  a-tellin'  fibs,  though  she's  got 
the  temper  of  a  angel.  Seems  to  me  we  oughter  call  a 
town-meetin',  and  send  a  committee  after  her  pa  and 
bring  him  here  whether  or  no.  I  expect  it's  all  along 
of  our  Ruth  that  he  won't  come,  don't  you?" 


356  PEMAQUID, 


MRS.  STRONG  TO  FRANK  WESTON. 

My  Dear  Frank:  The  new  church,  which  had 
set  its  heart  upon  having  you  for  its  pastor,  can  hard- 
ly believe  that  you  have  refused  its  call.  And  I  can 
hardly  believe  that  you  have  acted  so  hastily  in  a 
matter  of  such  importance.  My  husband  says  South 
Greenville  is  not  the  place  for  you,  as  the  character 
of  the  people  requires  a  different  man  and  one  older 
than  yourself.  And  Pemaquid  is  growing  apace, 
and  needs  the  best  spiritual  work.  It  is  extremely 
considerate  in  you  to  furnish  it  with  a  pastor  it  does 
not  want — because  it  wants  you — and  to  provide 
Ruth  Woodford  with  a  husband  out  of  hand,  when  a 
husband  is  the  last  thing  she  is  thinking  of.  It  is 
true  that  in  one  sense  it  does  not  matter  much  in 
what  part  of  the  vineyard  a  man  works,  but  in  an- 
other sense  it  does.  The  people  here  know  you  as 
you  never  can  be  knov/n  elsewhere.  As  a  crude  boy, 
sowing  his  wild  oats,  we  loved  you  and  forgave  you  ; 
as  a  man  who  has  put  away  childish  things,  we  love 
you  yet  better.  Now  the  new  church  is  largely 
composed  of  young  people  whom  my  husband  re- 
gards as  his  spiritual  children,  and  he  is  very  much  in 
earnest  about  their  future.  And  we  both  feel  that 
you  have  been  prepared  for  efficient  work  by  the 
discipline  through  which  you  have  passed,  and  have 
been  led  by  Providence  into  the  hearts  of  this  people. 

As  to  Ruth,  if  you  are  the  man  I  think  you  have 


FRANK  WESTON  IN  HIS  JOURNAL.    357 

become,  you  will  not  let  her  stand  between  you  and 
a  plain  duty.  She  and  Kezia  are  your  child's  devoted 
mothers  ;  they  are  both  the  most  maternal  beings  I 
ever  met.  Neither  of  them  needs  to  marry ;  their 
hearts  are  satisfied  with  loving  God,  and  Christ,  and 
duty,  and  little  children.  I  will  own  that  I  clung 
fondly,  and  for  a  long  time,  to  the  hope  of  seeing 
Ruth  your  wife  ;  but  it  seems  plain  to  me  now  that, 
while  she  may  learn  to  respect  you  as  her  pastor,  she 
never  again  will  allow  her  heart  to  be  stirred  by  hu- 
man passion.  And  once  convinced  of  this,  and  that 
she  has  found  her  vocation,  you  will  give  your  mind 
fully  to  yours.  Thousands  of  human  beings  never 
marry ;  they  can  not  force  Providence  in  this  more 
than  in  any  other  thing.  Leave  your  fate  in  God's 
hands,  and  set  yourself  manfully  at  work. 

Affectionately  yours. 

Faith  Strong. 

frank  weston  in  his  journal. 

After  a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer,  I  have  decided  to 
accept  the  call  to  Pemaquid.  It  ill  becomes  a  minis- 
ter of  the  Gospel  to  set  his  heart  on  a  human  maiden, 
and  I  have  done  with  such  folly  forever.  Mrs.  Strong 
has  removed  my  last  scruple  about  settling  at  Pem.i- 
quid,  by  assuring  mc  that  Ruth  will  never  think  of 
me  again  but  as  her  pastor;  I  therefore  resolve  never 
to  think  of  her  again   but   as   a   parishioner.     The 


358  PEMAQUID. 

thought  of  living  near  my  precious  little  daughter  is 
very  refreshing,  and  so  is  the  thought  of  living  only 
for  Christ,  crucifying  the  flesh  and  all  its  affections. 
Nothing  now  stands  between  my  soul  and  Him. 

MRS.   WOODFORD   IN   HER  JOURNAL. 

At  last  our  poor  young  church  is  rich  in  its  new 
young  pastor.  During  the  last  fev/  years  he  has  ma- 
tured wonderfully.  It  is  delightful  to  hear  him 
preach,  and  he  is  equally  beloved  by  young  and  old. 
It  is  delightful,  too,  to  see  him  with  his  little  Alice, 
who  is  the  only  recreation  he  allows  himself,  with  the 
exception  of  a  daily  romp  with  Samuel. 

Though  he  comes  regularly  every  evening  after  tea 
to  see  the  children,  he  rarely  sees  Ruth.  They  treat 
each  other  with  great  formality  when  they  do  meet ; 
there  is  something  unnatural  about  the  whole  thing. 
She  has  become  so  very  dear  to  me  that  I  frequently 
speak  of  her  to  him,  as  to  others,  as  she  deserves ; 
but  he  never  makes  the  smallest  response,  and  inva- 
riably changes  the  subject.  Then,  when  I  speak  with 
admiration  of  his  sermons,  Ruth  says,  quietly,  ^' Yes ; 
grandma  would  have  liked  them." 

To-day  I  almost  lost  patience  with  this  apathy,  and 
said  to  her : 

*'  When  you  were  so  devoted  to  him,  years  ago,  he 
was  not  half  the  man  he  is  now.  How  you  can  help 
loving  him  is  a  mystery." 

"  Perhaps  I  do  love  him,"  she  said,  thoughtfully, 


MRS.    WOODFORD  IN  HER  JOURNAL.  359 

"just  as  I  should  Owen,  and  Baxter,  and  Bunyan,  if 
they  were  aHve.  But  it  would  be  wrong  and  silly  for 
me  to  think  of  him  now  as  I  used  to  think  of  him 
when  he  was  a  boy.     Besides — " 

And  here  she  stopped  short,  and  would  say  no 
more. 

Kezia  rushed  in,  a  few  hours  later,  with  a  red  spot 
in  each  cheek. 

"  We  all  know  what  that  Stone  girl  is,  and  it 
wouldn't  never  do  for  our  minister  to  marry  her." 

''  Of  course  not,"  I  returned  ;  "  what  put  that  into 
your  dear  old  silly  head  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mis'  Jackson  see  him  payin'  her  attention 
after  meetin'  this  afternoon,  and  she  was  so  riled  that 
she  labored  with  him  about  it." 

Half  amused,  and  a  trifle  uneasy,  I  gave  him  a  gen- 
tle hint  the  next  time  we  met. 

^''  Paying  attention  ! ''  he  exclaimed,  "why,  she  was 
caught  in  the  rain,  and  as  I  passed  down  the  aisle 
and  out  of  the  meeting-house,  I  held  my  umbrella 
over  her  head,  as  I  should  do  to  any  man,  woman,  or 
child  I  stumbled  on.  Is  it  possible  that  people  are 
so  wanting  in  sense  that  they  can  make  a  mountain 
out  of  a  mole-hill  ?  This  is  not  my  first  annoyance 
of  that  sort,"  he  went  on.  "  Last  week  I  met  Miss 
Angela  Daw,  and  she  stopped  to  speak  to  me  about  a 
sick  woman  ;  and  in  half  an  hour  the  old  deacon  came 
and  warned  me  that  the  parish  would  be  greatly 
scandalized  if  I  courted  that  venerable  maid.     And 


360  PEMAQUID. 

the  day  before  yesterday  I  picked  up  somebody's  old 
brass  thimble  at  the  sewing-circle,  and  was  twirling  it 
about  on  the  table,  when  a  scrap  of  paper  was  placed 
before  me  by  invisible  hands,  containing  these  words  : 
*  That  is  Cindy  Green's  thimble  that  you  are  making 
so  much  of,  and  it  looks  particular'  Really,  a  man 
hardly  knows  which  way  to  turn  under  such  circum- 
stances." 

''  The  only  way  to  avoid  their  constant  repetition," 
I  said,  *'  is  to  take  refuge  in  matrimony." 

In  reply  he  took  from  his  pocket  and  handed  me  a 
book  containing  an  engraving  of  a  youthful  disciple, 
seeking  and  obtaining  counsel  from  an  aged  man,  in 
this  wise : 

"  Say,  where  is  peace,  for  thou  its  paths  hast  trod  ?  " 
"  In  poverty,  retirement,  and  with  God." 

"  I  am  experiencing  too  much  of  this  sweet  peace 
to  wish  to  exchange  it  for  another.  And  I  hope, 
dear  Mrs.  Woodford,  that  you  will  take  pains  to  have 
it  understood  in  the  parish  that  marriage  is  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  of  which  I  am  thinking.  I  have 
enough  to  satisfy  any  mortal — retirement,  poverty, 
and  God.  I  have  besides,  a  people  who  love  me  and 
v^hom  I  love,  and  a  little  daughter  whom  I  think  the 
most  winsome  and  engaging  of  children." 

"-  I  still  think,  however,  that  a  minister  needs  a  home 
and  a  cheery,  helpful  wife.  You  are  young  and  strong 
and  well  now,  but  life  will  bring  its  burdens  and  its 


FRANK  WESTON  IN  HIS  JOURNAL.    361 

changes  and  you  will  need  somebody  all  your  own 
who  will  be  to  you  what  no  other  friend  can  be.  An 
unmarried  minister  is  a  good  deal  like  a  bird  with  one 
wing  or  a  boat  with  one  oar." 

I  repeated  a  part  of  this  conversation  to  Kezia  that 
it  might  get  round  the  parish  that  our  minister  had 
no  matrimonial  tendencies. 

'■'■  Well,"  she  said,  "  I'm  beat.  I  thought  he  was  just 
waitin'  for  our  Ruth  to  give  in.  But  if  he  don't  want 
her,  there's  plenty  that  does,  and  me  and  you  we  love 
her  wonderful,  especially  you.  Does  he  think  she 
aint  got  book-learnin'  enough  to  make  a  good  minis- 
ter's wife?     Or  what  is  it  ?  " 

FRANK  WESTON  IN   HIS  JOURNAL. 

I  am  a  free  man  in  Christ  Jesus  and  haven't  an 
idol  in  the  world.  Ruth  is  not  now  more  cold  to  me 
than  I  am  to  her.  I  should  even  be  willing  to  unite 
her  to  Henry  with  my  own  hands. 

But  "  sadder  than  separation,  sadder  than  death  is 

change,"  and  while  I  no  longer  seek  her  as  a  wife,  I 

feel  that  she  will  not  even  be  my  friend.     It  is  now 

more  than  a  year  since  I  became  her  pastor,  and  I^do 

not  think  that  in  all  that  time  I  have  had  a  half-hour's 

conversation  with  her.     And  there  are  so  many  points 

where  I  need  to  consult  with  her  about  my  precious 

little  Alice.     When  I  go  to  her  house  after  tea  she  is 

either  absorbed  in  her  garden  or  invisible. 

And  this  is  not  because  she  fears  another  pursuit  from 
16 


362  FEMAQUID, 

me,  for  I  have  made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  I  never 
intend  to  marry.  It  is  very  unnatural  and  unpleasant, 
and  grows  more  and  more  irksome.  I  wish  she  was 
my  sister.  If  she  were,  how  I  should  love  to  tell  her 
all  my  thoughts  and  plans  and  have  her  share  in  all 
my  labors  for  this  people.  I  would  take  a  house  and 
go  to  housekeeping  and  we  should  educate  Alice  to- 
gether. And  in  the  reaction  that  follows  my  sermons 
she  would  sympathize  with  and  cheer  me. 

But,  alas  !  she  is  not  my  sister ;  not  even  my  friend. 
And  when  I  boarded  with  the  widow  Cutter  she  drove 
me  nearly  frantic  with  her  tongue.  And  here  at  the 
spinster  Gleason's  I  am  worshiped,  waylaid,  and 
waited  upon  and  fed  till  I  am  frantic.  How  thankful 
I  am  that  my  study  door  has  no  keyhole  and  Jias  a 

bolt! 

RUTH   IN   HER  JOURNAL. 

Of  course  I  could  not  expect  my  minister  to  think 
of  me  as  he  did  that  day  down  in  the  orchard.  An 
ignorant,  stupid,  country  girl !     And  I  never  have. 

But  I  did  not  think  the  time  would  ever  come 
when  he  would  despise  and  almost  hate  me. 

I  am  sure  he  thinks  I  am  in  love  with  him.  But  I 
am  not.  I  respect  and  esteem  him  too  much  for  that, 
and  realize  how  faf  he  is  above  me  till  I  ache.  Oh, 
how  heavenly-minded,  how  devoted  he  is.  His  ser- 
mons are  like  the  books  on  which  grandma  brought 
me  up ;  they  remind  me  of  her  every  Sunday,  and 
then  I   miss  her  and  feel  lonesome.     Miss  Tabitha 


RUTH  IN  HER  JOURNAL.  363 

Gleason  says  he  is  so  far  above  the  world  that  he  does 
not  know  roast-beef  from  bacon,  and  that  she  is  afraid 
he  is  all  soul. 

I  wish  I  knew  whether  my  management  of  Alice 
suits  him.  But  of  course  it  doesn't.  Kezia  has  pretty 
much  given  her  up  to  me,  and  takes  to  Samuel.  But 
though  he  is  my  own  dear  brother's  child,  and  just 
like  him,  and  Alice  is  no  relation,  I  am  ashamed  to 
own  that  I  love  her  best.  What  can  be  the  reason  ? 
Susan  Stowe  says  it  is  because  she  is  our  minister's 
child.  Susan  grows  spiteful  as  she  grows  older,  poor 
thing.  I  dare  say  she  doesn't  know  it ;  and  perhaps 
she  has  her  trials  and  can  not  always  rise  above  them. 
Perhaps  I  have  spiteful  .fits,  too.  But  I  hope  not. 
Yet  when  I  think  that  Alice's  papa  is  likely  to  take 
her  away  from  me  to  live  with  him,  I  feel  torn  to 
pieces.  Rather  than  part  with  her  I  would  go  and 
be  his  kitchen-maid.  1  should  not  mind  working  for 
such  a  good  man  and  his  lovely  child. 

He  can't  say  that  I  intrude  upon  him,  at  any  rate. 
I  lock  myself  into  my  room  generally  when  he  comes 
to  see  Alice  and  frolic  with  Samuel.  Samuel  loves 
him  dearly.  He  will  always  be  a  good  boy  if  we  tell 
him  our  minister  shall  know  it.  He  was  very  naughty 
at  meeting  last  Sunday,  and  one  of  the  tithing-men 
hit  him  hard  on  the  head.  That  will  teach  him  how 
to  behave  in  the  sanctuary. 


XXXII. 

MRS.   WOODFORD'S  JOURNAL. 

MRS.  STRONG  came  to  see  me  to-day.  She  is  a 
dear  little  bright  woman,  and  our  going  to  the 
other  church  has  not  disturbed  our  friendship  in  the 
least. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Frank,"  she  said.  ''  I 
do  not  think  Tabitha  Gleason  makes  him  comfortable. 
I  do  wish  he  would  get  married  and  go  to  housekeep- 
ing." 

"  He  says  he  never  shall,"  I  returned. 

"  Then  couldn't  you  take  the  poor  fellow  in  here  ? 
You  have  such  beautiful  housekeeping,  and  could 
make  him  so  happy  and  at  home  here.  He  isn't  one 
of  the  sort  to  make  trouble,  and  as  he  is  now  he 
would  be  a  blessing  to  the  house." 

"  That  is  true,"  I  said  ;  "  but— Ruth—  " 

"What  about  Ruth?" 

"  Why,  I  do  not  think  she  would  like  it.  I  am 
afraid  she  has  never  quite  forgiven  him  for  the  past. 
At  any  rate,  she  does  not  share  in  the  enthusiasm  the 
rest  of  us  feel  for  him.  She  always  takes  herself  off 
when  he  comes,  and  when  I  speak  of  his  sermons  she 
talks  about  her  grandmother.  No,  I  am  sure  she 
would  not  like  his  coming  here  to  live.  And  I  doubt 
(364) 


FRANK  WESTON'S  JOURNAL.  365 

if  he  would  like  to  come.  He  and  Ruth  do  not 
harmonize." 

'^  It  is  very  strange.  I  thought  their  love  for  the 
child  would  be  such  a  tie  between  them." 

''  She  never  consults  him  about  her  management ; 
he  never  volunteers  any  advice.  Perhaps  he  looks 
down  upon  her  from  the  elevation  he  has  reached.  I 
suppose  if  he  ever  did  marry,  he  would  want  a  woman 
of  culture  ;  a  woman  with  literary  tastes." 

"Bless  you,  what  good  could  literary  taste  do  him? 
It  wouldn't  love  him,  or  sympathize  with  him,  or  see 
that  he  was  properly  fed.  No,  no,  Ruth  is  just  the 
little  affectionate,  kind-hearted,  motherly  creature  he 
needs ;  and  what  is  keeping  them  apart,  when  that 
child  ought  to  be  drawing  them  together,  I  don't 
see.  But  if,  as  I  suspect,  there  is  a  misunderstanding 
between  them,  we  must  hope  it  will  be  cleared  up 
providentially.  And  now  I  must  go.  I  take  it  for 
granted  you  are  all  well." 

"Yes  ;  all  but  Alice.     Alice  is  drooping  a  little." 

"  It  is  the  weather.  It  has  been  so  sultry  for  nearly 
a  week  now.  Shall  I  look  at  her?  You  know  I  have 
been  consulting  physician  all  her  life.  Why,  Alice, 
darling,  what's  the  matter?  Don't  look  so  mournful. 
You'll  fell  better  by  and  by." 

FRANK  WESTON'S  JOURNAL. 

I  said  I  had  not  an  idol  in  the  world,  and  in  that 
spake  I  truly.    But  God  has  written  me  childless,  and 


366  PEMAQUID. 

pierced  my  heart  with  a  great  sorrow.  I  sit  here  in  my 
lonely  study,  longing  to  hear  the  little  feet  climbing 
the  stairs,  and  trying  to  say — nay,  saying — Thy  will 
be  done.  She  faded  away  before  we  had  time  to 
feel  uneasy.  How  I  loved  her !  How  I  miss  her ! 
Patient  little  lamb,  how  sweet  and  docile  she  was 
through  it  all ! 

Ruth  seems  stunned.  I  looked  to  her,  as  the  one 
who  loved  my  Alice  best,  for  sympathy.  No  one  has 
given  so  little.  But  even  this  I  must  bear  in  faith. 
It  is  a  bitter  drop  in  a  bitter  cup. 

ruth's  journal. 

How  can  I  write  ?  How  can  I  eat,  and  drink,  and 
sleep  ?  I  always  thought  it  would  nearly  kill  me  to 
lose  Alice.  But  I  never  foresaw  that  even  a  worse  thing 
could  befall  be.  But  to  see  his  agony  and  not  fly  to  take 
him  to  my  heart ;  not  to  dare  to  speak  to  him,  to 
write  to  him,  to  tell  him  how  I  ache  through  and 
through  to  bear  everything  to  save  him  a  single 
pang — this  is  misery  indeed.  If  God  had  only  let 
me  die,  and  left  him  his  little  treasure,  the  light  of 
his  life,  the  image  of  his  saintly  wife.  I  wrung  my 
hands  and  prayed  Him  to  spare  her,  and  take  me; 
over  and  over  I  besought  Him,  but  He  answered  me 
never  a  word. 

Why  should  this  fervent,  heavenly  spirit  be  thus 
dealt  with?  Was  he  not  already  seven  times  puri- 
fied?    Had  he  made  an  idol  of  her?    No!    He  loved 


KEZIA  INTERFERES.  367 

God  better  than  he  loved  her ;  she  was  all  he  had, 
and  he  justified  Him  in  taking  her  from  him.  Never 
did  I  witness  such  faith,  such  grand,  such  sublime 
submission ;  just  the  very  Christian  graces  I  admire 
and  value  the  most.  Let  me  have  them,  too.  Though 
He  slay  me,  let  me  trust  Him. 

FRANK  WESTON'S  JOURNAL. 

Sharp  as  this  blow  is,  I  could  bear  it  better  but  for 
Ruth's  want  of  sympathy.  Out  of  her  wealth  of 
flowers,  she  has  not  offered  me  one  to  lay  on  my 
child's  coffin.  Apt  as  she  is  at  administering  conso- 
lation, she  offers  none  to  me.  And  I  should  be  so 
soothed  if  she  would  be  to  me  as  a  sister  in  this  time 
of  my  sorrow  ;  put  kind  arms  around  me  ;  speak  lov- 
ing words ;  support  my  drooping  faith  ;  pray  with  me 
and  for  me,  and  talk  of  my  Alice  to  me  ;  speak  of  the 
home  to  which  she  has  gone  ;  magnify  Christ,  and  fill 
me  with  joy  in  Him.  A  man  in  trouble  needs  a 
woman  to  lean  on.  Dearly  as  she  loved  Alice,  she  is 
not  crushed  as  I  am ;  she  is  stronger,  and  she  looks 
down  on  my  weakness. 

KEZIA  INTERFERES. 

**  Now  here's  just  where  it  is,  and  I  can't  stand  it 
no  longer.  Here  you  sit,  and  you  a  man,  and  a  real 
good  man  at  that ;  and  you're  a-pinin*  to  have  our 
Ruth  fly  in  by  that  'ere  winder  and  bind  up  your 
v/ounds.     And  there  she  sits  a-wearin'  and  a-tearin' 


368  PEMAQUID. 

because  she's  achin'  to  do  it,  and  dursen't.  Every- 
body but  me's  as  blind  as  bats  ;  you  be,  and  our 
Ruth,  she  be.  You  two  love  each  other  to  distrac- 
tion, and  have  all  along ;  and  is  she  to  speak  fust,  I 
want  to  know?  You  needn't  think  I  aint  got  no 
feelin's  'cause  I  come  and  scold  at  you.  I've  cried 
my  eyes  out  to  think  of  you  havin'  to  lay  that  sweet 
lamb  away  in  the  ground,  and  my  heart  it  will  be 
laid  low  in  the  grave  with  her  when  you  do.  But — 
now  don't  you  go  to  dyin'  of  joy ;  she  aint  dead;  ^he's 
been  in  a  trance,  like  Mr.  Tennent,  but  she's  come 
to,  and  has  eat  hearty,  for  her.  And  if  she  aint  been 
and  broke  the  ice  between  you  and  our  Ruth,  my 
name  aint  Kezia,  and  as  the  French  woman  said, 
*  What's  the  use  of  bein'  a  woman  if  you  have  to 
look  at  things  when  you  don't  want  to  see  'em  ?  '  " 

KEZIA   SINGS   ONE   DAY   IN   HER   KITCHEN. 

O,  what  a  mass  of  ignorance 

We  mortal  women  be  ! 
How  we  refuse  to  walk  by  faith, 

And  walk  by  what  we  see  ! 
How  many  times  I've  cried  for  fear 

The  baby  it  should  die, 
And  almost  seen  her  takin'  wings, 

Straight  into  glory  fly  ! 
How  often  I  have  quaked  with  fear 

Lest  on  some  dreadful  day 
Her  pa  should  come  with  cruel  hands 

And  snatch  our  bird  away  ; 
How  often  trembled  lest  some  spark 

Should  fall  in  love  with  Ruth, 


KEZIA  SINGS  IN  HER  KITCHEN.       369 

And  tear  her  from  my  breakin'  heart 

To  dwell  with  him,  forsooth. 
And  how  we  all  bemoaned  the  fate 

That  threatened  us  ere  long 
With  loss  of  our  dear  church 

And  blessed  Mr.  Strong  ! 
And  now  jest  see  how  things  turn  out ! 

Kezia  Millet,  look 
And  tell  me  if  it  isn't  like 

A  story  in  a  book  : 
The  baby,  she  aint  died,  but  growed 

Into  a  lovely  girl, 
With  dimpled  hands  and  rosy  cheeks, 

And  hair  that  can't  but  curl ; 
Her  pa,  he'll  never  take  her  hence — 

Our  Ruth  will  never  go 
A  single  step  from  Pemaquid 

And  all  who  love  her  so  ! 
*Tis  true,  we  all  have  had  to  leave 

Our  own  beloved  church. 
But  'taint  like  Providence  to  leave 

His  people  in  the  lurch  ; 
And  our  new  minister's  a  man 

The  very  stones  can  love ; 
He's  not  an  angel — didn't  drop 

Right  down  from  heaven  above- 
He's  made  of  jest  such  stuff  as  1 

And  other  mortals  be  ; 
He's  had  to  fight  the  world,  the  flesh. 

And  Satan,  too — all  three  ; 
He's  had  his  falls,  as  I've  had  mine, 

He's  had  his  sorrows,  too  ; 
And  when  his  people  suffer  theirs. 

Knows  what  to  say  and  do. 
A  son  of  consolation,  he. 

And  going  everywhere 


370  PEMAQUID. 


With  strengthenin'  words  and  kindly  deeds. 

And  loving,  tender  prayer. 
The  Squire,  O  how  glad  he  is 

To  have  once  more  a  son  ! 
Mis'  Woodford  thinks  for  such  a  man 

Too  much  can  ne'er  be  done  ; 
And  Ruth,  our  Ruth,  the  mornin's  broke 

For  that  dear  soul  at  last ; 
She's  sippin'  Paradise  to  pay 

For  all  the  wo'  that's  past. 
A  little  robin  aint  more  plump, 

Nor  skips  more  light  than  she; 
Yet  she's  a  pillar  in  the  church. 

And  proper  glad  I  be  ! 
Aye,  there  goes  our  new  minister, 

Them  children  on  his  back, 
And  he,  I  do  believe  my  heart, 

The  merriest  of  the  pack  ! 
Well,  if  to  paint  the  happiest  home 

On  earth  my  hand  was  bid, 
I  shouldn't  be  afraid  to  say 

It  is  in  Pemaquid  1 


By  the  same  Authob. 

GOLDEN   HOUBS; 

HYMNS  AND  SONGS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  LIFE 

Sy  tte  Author  of  "  Stepping  Heavenward." 

'■'For  purity  of  tlionght,  eamestnees  and  spirituality  of  feeling,  and 
Bmoothness  of  diction,  they  are  all,  w  ithoat  exception,  good— if  they  are  not 
great.  If  no  one  rises  to  the  height  which  other  poets  have  occasionally 
reached,  they  are,  nevertheh-ss.  always  free  from  tlicsc  deffcts  which  some 
times  mar  the  perfectness  of  far  greater  productions.  Each  portrays  some 
human  thirst  or  longing,  and  so  touches  the  heart  of  every  thoughtful  reader. 
There  is  a  sweetness  running  (iirouijrh  them  all  which  comes  from  a  higher 
than  earthly  source,  and  which  human  wisdom  can  neither  produce  nor 
eujo J. "—The  Churchman  (liar t ford). 

♦'Will  have,  and  deserves  to  have,  many  appreciative  readers." 

Harper's  Magazine. 

"  We  do  not  think  there  is  a  poem  in  this  book  which  it  will  not  do  on€ 

food  to  read :  while  there  are  many  which  will  quicken  the  aspirations  and 
eaxea.'^— Christian  Weekly. 

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anxious  to  have  them  read  the  hook,  in  order  to  profit  by 
its  teachings.  We  like  it  and  believe  others  wilV — The 
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*'  The  object  of  Au'Kt  Jane's  Hero  is  to  depict  a  ChrlsTian  homo 
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"  The  plot  of  this  story  is  the  simplest,  the  materials  the  common 
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mother  could  have  written  them,  and  the  children  never  grow  weary  of  Little 
Susy." 

THE  LITTLE  PREACHER.     i8mo,  223  pp.,  $1.00. 

"  A  charming,  loving,  thoughtful  book,  in  its  style  and  in  its  lessons.  Wes^ 
it  not  that  its  title  foretells  us  that  it  is  by  an  American  author,  we  should  say 
that  it  was  written  in  Germany.  We  commend  it  gladly  to  old  as  well  as  to 
young  readers.  It  is  rich  in  lessons  of  Divine  Wisdom,  as  well  as  deeply 
Interesting."    Published  by 

THE  STORY  LIZZIE  TOLD.    2  Illustrations,  square 

24mo.     Paper,  35  cents.     Cloth,  60  cents. 

"Young  and  old  alike  wiU  read  this  little  story  of  one  of  God's  little  one% 
With  pleasure  and  profit." 

ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  Co., 

900  Broadway,  cor.  20th  St.,  New  York. 

Sent  by  mail,  prepaid,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN   DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


0ct'53r  C 

REC'D  LD 

SEP  2  7  1956 

LD  21-100m-6,'56 
(B9311sl0)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


ivil02442        X 

t 


X./rv\^ 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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